Lost Son of Avalon

by Shadewynde

Horatio Caine faces the biggest mystery of his life - himself. Will it cost him his life, or grant him the one thing he desperately needs?

36. In A Company Of Frost

DEDICATION: This chapter goes out to horatio-is-the-man! Thank you so much for your reviews and comments! :)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I humbly apologize for the slow posts, it's been seriously crazy out here. (I had to go back to the hospital again - gall stones
and kidney infections do NOT mix well - ugh!) and just got home yesterday. Here's the next chapter, In A Company Of Frost! In which Horatio
and Calleigh have a date, the hunt for the Holy Order of Purgatory takes a very sinister turn, and Horatio's family discovers one of his closely-guarded
secrets. And our favorite Lieutenant ("Captain!" Muse ::chains Muse to the air conditioner::) has been hiding a bit of a whopper... Please review - they
help me keep writing. You guys are the best! Help me, my Muse is now COMPLETELY out of control...;) A little romance between Gil and Sara as well,
for my fellow GSRs. And when Horatio returns to the Lab, his family is in for a SURPRISE...;) DuCaine! GSR! (I should mention that Coucher de Soleil
is entirely a product of my slightly (::eyes Muse dangerously::) demented imagination...) Enjoy! :)

- Shadewynde

WARNING: Implications of child abuse, nothing graphic.

LOST SON OF AVALON

by Shadewynde

I'll be your dream
I'll be your wish
I'll be your fantasy
I'll be your hope
I'll be your love
Be everything that you need
I'll love you more with every breath
Truly, madly, deeply do
I will be strong, I will be faithful
'Cause I'm counting on
A new beginning
A reason for living
A deeper meaning, yeah...

"Truly Madly Deeply", Cascada

Chapter Thirty-Six - In A Company Of Frost

Jason had his feet up on a Break Room table, a Dr. Pepper at his elbow, occasionally popping a Starburst piece from his ever-present backpack into his mouth.
Though he seemed to be engrossed in his book, he was abundantly aware when the tall, dark-haired man almost strutted in, pausing to glare at the back of the shorter man in what he clearly thought to be an intimidating glare.
The blonde man didn't even look up. "You got somethin' to say, say it, or get lost. Yer in my readin' space."
"What are doing in this Lab?" demanded the older man.
Jason turned a page, "What are you doin' in this Lab? 'Cause ya sure don't got the brains to be no CSI, Mr. Detective."
Rick Stetler stiffened at the cheerfully dismissive words.
"I want to see some ID. Now."
Jason waved his free hand idley, not looking up. "An' I wanna fly and bounce bullets off my chest. Deal with it."
Stetler took a step closer. into the blonde man's personal space.
Jason didn't even look up, just rolled his eyes with an inner snicker.
"Ya sure ya wanna go this way, little man? Work that little brain a bit, careful not to hurt yerself. I ain't impressed with no third-rate detective on an ego trip."
The reminder of what Stetler perceived as a very unfair demotion had the taller man seeing red.
He stepped even closer, the front of his legs bangng into the small table.
"Besides," Jason continued, sounding mildly amused, "in this Lab ya answer to Lieutenant Caine. He's the brains, you ain't nothin' more than a glorified tattetale."
Ryan was coming in the door, just in time to seea very angry Stetler lose his temper completely and swing a punch at the younger man.
Jason...moved.
By the time the young CSI had blinked, Stetler's head was slammed down into the table, held there by a single finger, a finger pressed - it seemed to be so lightly - against the base of the taller man's neck.
The blonde man leaned close to his captive, but somehow, Ryan heard him clearly.
"If you ever swing a punch at me again," It was calm, almost conversational, "I'll be cranky, little man."
Stetler's legs were suddenly completely numb, and he found he couldn't even try to push back, much less attempt a counterattack.
Pain shot down his neck, as the IAB agent felt his arms twitch, outside his control.
A faint alteration of pressure, and Stetler's face turned ashen, wide eyes meeting Ryan's.
Jason gave a slight, sidelong, predatory smile.
"Another centimeter, little man, and you ain't never walkin' again. Believe me, the doctors'll be stumped."
Those grey-blue eyes were completely devoid of emotion.
Not angry, not smug, not pleased - cold, analytical, and completely emotionless.
"I could have you...arrested..." Stetler tried, his voice vibrating with dark, helpless fury. "This is an assault...on a police officer!"
Jason leaned in close, lips just an inch from the IAB officer's ear.
"Try it, little man." A dispassionate, analytical look, chilling in it's lack of emotion. "Please."
With a faint movement sharply downward, Stetler's head bounced hard off the table, and the blonde stepped back.
Stetler stood, straightening to his full height and attempted another glare.
Jason simply smiled a smile that would have scared a shark into hyperventilation.
Snarling, eyes full of a kind of sulky fury, the taller man turned and stormed unsteadily out the door, almost knocking Ryan aside.
"Don't let the door hitcha where the good Lord splitcha." Jason called after the IAB agent, flopping back into the chair, once more dropping his feet onto the table and returning to his book, casually turning the page he had finished mere minutes ago.
"Wow." Despite himself, Ryan was impressed - and fighting not to laugh.
"Detective? An' here I normally like a good joke!" The cheerful voice replied, now once more buried in his book.

Calleigh glanced ruefully at her bed.
Eight sets of clothing - dresses, casual suits, as well as dark grey slacks and her favorite green silk blouse that accented her eyes - were tossed there, while the blonde woman searched her closet.
It was then she had to laugh at herself, returning to sit down on the old stool in front of the old, moderately ornate mirror that dominated that side of her bedroom.
Clad only in her underwear, freshly showered and more than a little nervous, she finally uttered a bemused snort.
"You're worse than a teenager on her first date!" she scolded her reflection, shaking her head.
But then, she had to admit to herself, this was her first date with Horatio.
Her best friend.
And so much more than best friend.
The thought of their date had set her heart hammering so hard that the woman had sat down sheepishly on at least two occasions, gathering her nerves and laughing at herself.
Calliegh had told herself she was a grown, independent woman, highly respected in her field of ballistics, an experienced CSI, but then the thought of Horatio's blue eyes flecked with azure made her brain check out and her heart take over.
Despite herself, she wondered where they would go - and how far...
The reaction that evoked made her clamp down hard on her whirling emotions and force herself to concentrate on what to wear.
Casual or more intimate, dignified or carefree, her brain was being spectacularly uncooperative.
With a sigh, and a rueful shake of her head at her uncharacteristic dithering, she eyed the clothing again, considering.
Hmmm. Green, she thought, absently, picking up her green shirt and running her fingers down the front.
A thought struck her, and she went back to her closet, located a pair of white slacks she had never quite had time to wear, and lifted them and the silk blouse to her chest, considered them together, and smiled to herself.
With a bemused snort at her uncharacteristic attack of nerves, she began to dress, her movements once more steady and sure.
The doorbell rang, and her startled gaze snapped up to the clock on the edge of her vanity, and almost suffered a panic-attack when she saw the time.
8:00 pm.
The remaining clothes were flung into a whirlwind as Calleigh - thankfully dressed and ready, except for her uncharacteristic case of nerves - exploded from her room and stopped a moment to steady herself just inside the door..
Calm down, girl! she scolded herself. It's Horatio, you've known him for years...
When she opened the door, her overstressed brain locked up as she took note of the man standing there.
Horatio wasn't in one of his formal suits he favored, instead he was wearing light blue jeans that were neat and almost form-fitting, dark sneakers that looked somehow tasteful and not quite casual, and a tasteful, dark red shirt.
A short-sleeved, tasteful, dark red shirt.
Despite the more casual clothing, he still generated that quietly authoritative, elegant, and unconsciously sensual aura only he could radiate.
While Calleigh momentarily struggled to remember the English language, the redhead gave her a gentle, warm smile of greeting that was clearly just for her.
"You look stunning." he said, his voice silk and shadow. His head cocked slightly to one side, concern flickering in his eyes. "Are you all right?"
Oh, to Hell with it. Calleigh snarled mentally at her first-date jitters.
"I'm great, Handsome." she replied, voice bright in return. "This is the first time I can remember ever seeing you not wearing a suit."
Horatio chuckled softly, shaking his head self-deprecatingly. "I discovered that most of my clothes are - ah - too big." His eyes were amused - and maybe a little sheepish. "This still fits, but I haven't worn it in years."
The blonde woman pretended to study his clothes closely, then smiled up at him. "They look good on you." she said, mock-solemnly, though her green eyes were sparkling with laughter as she patted his arm in humorous comfort.
"They're much better than having my clothing fall off me." he replied, with a rueful smile.
Calleigh almost choked at the image that provoked, and warned herself, Down, girl! Down!
Horatio's eyes met her's, and he gently took her hand, bringing it to lips with old-school courtliness.
"Are you ready?" he asked, softly, voice caressing gently over her overloaded nerves.
Oh, God... Calleigh's brain went down a road that almost - thankfully almost - triggered a very strong blush, and she wildly hauled it back in before it could get - creative.
"...Sure." If that was a squeak, I'm gonna do home-surgery on my vocal cords, she thought, slightly crazily. "Where are we going?"
Horatio's smile could warm a nuclear winter, as he offered her arm, accepted with undeniable pleasure.
His rich, vibrant voice seemed to wrap around her like a soothing cloak.
"That, Sweetheart, is a surprise."

Marian Walters looked up from the latest requisition form - how Lieutenant Caine manged to keep every request organized and marked to be sent to the most receptive party - was beyond her.
Crossing the lobby floor was a tall man with thick, raven-black hair and striking green eyes that were actually emerald.
Stopping directly in front of the desk, the newcomer met her gaze, sketching a slight bow of greeting.
"Madam, I am here to speak with any of the Day Shift CSIs. I believe they will remember me." The voice was a steady baritone, but there was the edge of an accent the former police officer couldn't place.
Marian's gaze was thoughtful as she subtlety checked the man, noting the faint lines of a shoulder-holster around his left shoulder.
"Police officer?" she questioned, indicating the gun with a faint flick of her eyes.
"In a sense." The newcomer smiled slightly, as if inwardly amused, but somehow not insulting. "Ian Caine, Interpol."
Quietly, he passed the woman his credentials, then his firearm - with an inner sigh for the need to carry the weapon.
He did, after all, have other means of self-defense, but sometimes appearing to follow the expected was more - expedient.
As the woman locked the pistol in the firearms locker, Ian considered, observing without moving at all.
So, my son...this is the place you created, the home you are most comfortable with. He considered, keeping his body still as he considered possible threats to Horatio's safety - and his son's family. I do hope Jason is exercising some restraint. He does get quite enthusiastic in carrying out his missions, and it would be unfortunate if Speed's first day home became - overactive. The thought prompted the faintest smile.
Marian handed back Ian's credentials and smiled at him. "Thank you." She passed him a vistior's pass. "I'll take you back, are you here on a case?"
"That is one reason." The raven-haired man pinned the pass neatly onto his white shirt. "Thank you, madam."
That accent, not English - is it European? she thought, absently.
"Do you know Lieutenant Caine?" Her curiosity was piqued.
"I hope so."
Puzzled, the woman looked up at the tall man. "I thought you might be a relative, but I guess Caine is just kind of an uncommon name..."
Ian simply smiled.
"That it is." he replied neutrally, following Marian toward the back of the Lab.

Horatio was faintly sheepish when Calleigh took note of his personal vehicle.
Despite herself, she had to laugh. "A BMW M235i ?" she blurted out, eyes dancing. "Why am I not surprised, Handsome?
The redhead simply gave a little shrug, as if it was an everyday thing to drive such a sleek automotive artpiece.
"It has the best safety features on the road." His comment was calm and reasonable as he stepped over to the passenger side and unlocked the door for her.
That probably is the reason he bought it. The blonde CSI found that faintly amusing, a fleeting image of a car chase between this vehicle and another automobile - she'd bet on a BMW in general, but add in Horatio's driving skills, and that was one race that was over before it could even start.
After Calleigh made herself comfortable, she was secretly delighted the find the pristine black exterior wrapped around soft, grey, leather seats.
She was even happier to see him slide gracefully into the driver's seat, giving her a gently stern look until she realized she hadn't buckled her seatbelt.
Laughing at herself, the blonde fastened herself in, watching as Horatio's gaze turned questioningly to her.
"Oh, Handsome, I feel like a teenager." Calleigh's laughter was full of honest mirth. "Do you have any idea how many choices I had as what to wear? I'm not sure whether I feel happy or silly."
Flickers of azure danced in Horatio's intensely sapphire eyes as a rare, rich chuckle met the words.
"I'll admit to being a concerned myself." The redhead's expression was somewhere between rueful and amused. "But as things turned out, I ended up with a limited set of choices."
Calleigh smiled up into those vivid blue eyes, noting the flecks of azure and crystal-blue sparkling there.
"I didn't think you got nervous." Calleigh's smile was mischievous, while she regarded him in mock-surprise.
Horatio chuckled again, a rich, almost hypnotic sound. "Well, I certainly didn't want to appear on your doorstep as a mess."
The blonde snorted "You, a mess? Ha! Never!" She chuckled.
"Put yourself in my place." he deadpanned, though his eyes sparkled with hidden laughter. "I look like I'm just past that awkward teenage stage - I imagine that more than a few men are going to think I'm taking advantage of such a beautiful woman."
For a moment Calleigh gawked at Horatio, then couldn't stop the laughter bubbling up from her heart.
"Charmer!" she half-accused, though she was pleased he thought she was beautiful, she had to smile at the thought of Horatio Caine ever being awkward.
"Horatio, I might get busted for taking advantage of you!" Calleigh found herself relaxing now, basking in Horatio's gentle humor and warmth. "I mean, I could pass for the older woman!"
The redhead shook his head, a faint smile on his face. "I do have my ID, young lady." His velvet voice was warm with gentle humor, despite the mock-stern tone.. "Your reputation is safe."
The blonde woman choked she was laughing so hard.
Oh, I've missed this side of you, Handsome, she thought, watching his profile as he expertly backed the car up and headed up the street. The one that could drop those truly terrible puns, just so we wouldn't have to think of the ugly side of the job. I missed your laughter, even if it was silent, that smile that added that wonderful shine to your eyes.
"I bet you're gonna be paying on this beauty for a long time, Horatio."
Horatio was navigating the crazed tangle of Miami's nighttime traffic, and thus replied honestly rather than with his usual reticence.
"It's paid for."
Despite the warm relaxation in the car, Calleigh's startled gaze locked on the man she loved.
"I though this was the 2016 model." She was annoyed with herself. Years of dealing with two older brothers - and Mike still loved cars - had made her extremely competent at identifying the make and model of most cars, usually in the span of a minute.
Horatio felt a surge of self-recrimination, a flicker of concern that...well, it was an expensive car...
He was almost afraid of her reaction, but it was too late now.
"It is." It was a quiet admission.
Calleigh could see the sudden tension, and rested her hand on his arm as he braked for a red light, watching his eyes turn to meet her once the car halted for a few moments..
"You must manage your money like a pro, Handsome." Again, she wondered just how much Horatio Caine kept to himself.
But she knew very well that he would never be dishonest, and she wanted - needed - him to know that,
The guarded look in his eyes disappeared and once more his gaze was lit with his own brand of gentle humor.
"Thank you." His unusual - if charming - sense of humor resurfaced. "Though I will admit, I'd enjoy the company of you as Bonnie to my Clyde - though where we'd put the guns in this thing I'm not sure of." His voice was deadpan. "As always, I'd have to leave the guns to you, Bullet Girl."
Calleigh wondered abruptly if a person really could die from laughing - his rare, almost oddball humor had reduced her to a fit of helpless laughter.
Oh, but what a way to go! she thought, somewhat incoherently.
Her laughter, though it warmed her, could never match the joy she felt when Horatio's hand came down to tenderly cover her own.

Speed and Max walked toward the Trace Lab, but the Night Shift CSI paused when there was a sharp, muffled sound.
"One sec," he commented, ducking into a currently-unused, very small office.
Speed's hearing picked up soft tones, but nothing specific, then something scrabbled on the smooth floor as Max emerged.
Followed by a huge, black dog with faint, pale markings, clearly at least part Husky from it's size and strikingly alert face.
"Thunder, sit." Max said, and the dog complied instantly, it's alert light blue eyes on Speed.
"Nice dog." Speed commented, regarding the animal carefully.
He could swear the dog was looking back at him with the same interest.
Max's hand dropped to the large head, giving the animal a fond pat.
"Speed, this is Thunder. He used to be my partner - still is, actually."
It was then the former CSI noticed the silver badge attached to Thunder's collar.
"Thunder, friend." Max spoke gently to the huge dog. He indicated Speed, his other hand making a gesture at the same time.
The bright blue eyes met Speed's, and Thunder uttered a little yip, extending his neck to sniff Speed in a general manner, then uttered a slight whine, looking up at Max.
"He likes you, and Thunder's a pretty damn good judge of character."
"Yeah, but what's he doin' in CSI?" Speed's dark brown eyes were curious.
Max grinned. "Thunder's CSI's narc and tracking expert at Night." he replied, black eyes sparkling.
"Wait a minute, you're telling me a dog is attached to CSI?" Speed met the other man's eyes. "Does H know?"
"Know? He signed us on! Thunder thinks he's the best thing since prime rib." Max' chuckled, and the dog uttered another yip, as if in agreement.
Thunder's mouth had dropped open, and Speed could swear the dog was laughing.

When Andozza and Joseph entered the safehouse, the group gathered there broke into cheers.
"The Lord has blessed our holy mission." The former priest's voice was both fierce and pleased. "We are on the path of righteousness, and the fiends will soon fall!"
One man, a scarred little man with a rodent-like face, thin lips and a dark smile, spoke up.
"The pair that failed at the office...what shall we do about them, Father?"
Andozza's eyes fixed on the man, glanced over at Joseph. then back to the speaker.
"They have failed in their strike against the Beast, and the Holy Order must not be revealed to the filth that contaminates the world." It's regrettable, but the Lord has spoken. It must be done. Andozza thought. "We must silence them."
"Where, Father? It is certain they will be guarded." The rat-faced man reasoned, his dark eyes bright with anticipation.
"If the Lord commands it, Father, send me." Trent LaBarre, one of the youngest gathered, was a resident at Mercy Hospital, where two of the Faithful lay in the hands of the Order's enemies.
Andozza nodded. "The Lord will reward you greatly, my son." His eyes hardened. "There must be no trace."
LaBarre was delighted to be so acknowledged by the Order's revered cleric, and nodded sharply. "I will not fail, Father."
Andozza's dark eyes were filled with fanatic passion. "I have faith in you, my son." he intoned.

"Anything else on those two from the Order's office?" Natalia turned slightly from her MDPD research into Peter Andozza.
What she had found was sparse, but she had found more reading between the lines of some reports than what was actually written.
Walter looked up, running a hand over his eyes. "Only one thing - his finances are a little odd." he replied.
Natalia's head came up and she met the young man's eyes. "Odd how?" she questioned, hopefully.
"Well, he doesn't have much personally, but he has access to several accounts, all kind of layered over one another. I'm digging through them, but it's slow going."
The dark-haired woman felt a flash of hope.
"Keep digging, Walter. This could be important!"
"No problem, BV."
There was a few moments silence, marked only by the soft tap of keyboard keys and the occasional "ping" when the system found a - usually somewhat vague - link to Andozza and the Holy Order of Purgatory.
Both CSIs heads snapped up almost in unison when they heard a throat being tactfully cleared.
Marcia Walters, CSI's receptionist, was standing just inside the doorway, a tall, raven-haired man slightly behind her.
Nodding toward the man, Marcia introduced, "We have a visitor from Interpol. This is Ian Caine..."
"Caine?!" the two CSIs chorused, then looked at each other, then back at their visitor.
Ian swept a slight bow of greeting, his emerald eyes sparkling, though he remained silent, studying the CSIs.
He was aware they were very much returning the interest.

Calleigh's curiosity was in full force as she glanced around the car.
She found that she wanted to know everything about Horatio Caine, from his favorite color to his favorite movies, to his favorite type of music - everything.
All the things that fit together into his deep and complex personality.
And finding out just a little more about Horatio could keep me fascinated for a decade, the blonde admitted to herself, smiling inwardly.
Her green eyes tracked along his body, noting that he looked almost thin, though he had a quietly elegant grace that was so obviously unaffected that it added to her fascination. She had to smile at the thought that his hair was a bit longer than she remembered, and that - vitality - he had shown so unconsciously when she had first met him was back.
Horatio was not unaffected by the presence of the petite blonde next to him. Though his eyes remained on the road, alert for any traffic mishaps, his heart was beating a bit faster.
He knew he loved Calleigh, he had no doubt of that, but...
He felt vulnerable.
Exposed.
What if she - sees what happened, all of it, everything...? That made his heart almost hammer through his ribcage, but forced it down.
How can I be afraid of someone I've...loved...so long? I...can't hide anything, if she asks, I can't lie. He was suddenly angry - furious - at himself, for his fears.
Because she deserved total honesty, complete forthrightness, not the shadows that hid - too much.
Even his - no.
He refused to allow the darkness in to gnaw at his soul, held on to his calm with all his will.
Sometimes he feared his will would fail and he would become the very - memory, he snapped at himself - he hated.
Not to mention he was as nervous as he had been on his first date - and look where that went...
Damnable shyness. Horatio snarled at himself, as the wraiths of his past circled, poking his heart with sharp and vicious talons.
Horatio refused to think any more on that.
Unconsciously, the hand on Calleigh's tightened just slightly, and and she looked up at him, clearly picking up on the subtle tension.
Her hand turned slightly to squeeze his tenderly, her eyes full of warmth and love.
Despite his internal fears, his eyes were warm and gentle as he smiled in return.
Turning into a large parking lot, he quickly found a parking space and turned off the impressive engine, as Calleigh took note of the restaurant's name.
"Coucher de Soleil?" she was startled, and secretly delighted. This place is legendary, one of the few Creole restaurants in Miami that has food that's supposed to be genuine! A heartbeat of a pause. My favorite type of food - how could he know? Here, in Miami, I've always gone for Italian or fast food. When her body started to offer an opinion on that, on the memory of what she had believed to be half of Horatio's heritage, she once more smacked it down. Well, she comforted herself, I was never wild about Italian. And don't even GO there! she warned her gleefully overactive subconscious.
And it seemed to want to take an active co-pilot status this evening.
Did Horatio's skin feel a little warmer than normal? She wasn't sure.
Horatio had taken a sharp command of his roiling emotions, feeling a sharp, distressingly familiar edge of fear trying to cut into him, trying to steal away the warmth his heart was flooding into his body.
Calleigh saw his sapphire eyes flicker to actual cobalt for a moment, before they flickered back to azure-flecked sapphire, and a part of her took a kind of innocent joy in the incredibly mutable blue of those intense eyes.
She turned her mind back forcefully to the - date!, her mind and heart sang gleefully - evening before her.
"Horatio, this place is impossible to even get a reservation for!" she exclaimed, as the redhead slid out of his seat and came around to her side, opening the door and offering her his arm with that warm, unconscious courtliness that was so much a part of him.
"Sweetheart, nothing is impossible for you." That smokey, velvet-and-silk voice was rich and somehow gentle.
Calleigh grinned a joyous smile as she linked her arm with his, secretly delighting in the feel of the warm skin of his forearm, the gentle closeness of his body, not quite touching, but so close to her.
She glanced over at the overworked, harried parking attendants, surprised when one, a fair-haired boy who couldn't be more than eighteen, took note of Horatio's presence and gave an enthusiastic wave of greeting from halfway across the lot.
Puzzled, the blonde kept pace with her - date, her heart happily repeated - and he leaned slightly down so that his voice was a whisper of silk in her ear.
"I detest asking them to wait on me. They have a great deal to do without me adding to their headaches."
Shivering as that voice caressed her, she felt a surge of pride at Horatio's quiet - but unshakable - determination to not compromise any person's dignity.
Well, everyone except maybe for criminals...
Shut up. Nothing about CSI, just Horatio and me, tonight...
Another young man, perhaps in his early twenties, hurried up to them, looking a little stressed. He indicated his fair-haired compatriot out in the parking lot and said something so quickly it was a verbal blur.
Horatio nodded in answer and the young man beamed in reply, rushing into the front door like a man on a mission.
You're just determined to be irresistible, aren't you, Handsome? Her inner laughter expanded to trigger a smile at the man she had loved so long. And you don't even plan it. You could dazzle the royal court, I bet!

Natalia eyed the tall, dark-haired, emerald-eyed visitor warily as Marian nodded once and turned to head back to her station.
"Caine?' she half-asked, eyes dark searching.
Ian sketched a bow. "Ian Caine, Interpol." he introduced himself. "Miss Boa Vista, Mr. Simmons, a pleasure."
"How do you know our names?" Walter was on guard. Things had just been too crazy recently for him to take anything for granted.
"All answers begin with a question." Ian's reply was cryptic at best. "I asked many."
"That's not an answer." Natalia shot back, eyes narrowed.
"Ah, but it is an answer. Merely not one expected."
"If you're just here to make us guess, believe me, we really aren't in the mood."
Another faint smile, this one accompanied by a faint, approving nod.
"I am here to offer assistance." Ian's emerald eyes met Natalia's, then Walter's. "Both personally and as a member of Interpol."
Walter twisted around in his chair.
"What kind of help?" he asked, still a bit wary.
"I do possess a useful skillset that may be of use." The tall man leaned back slightly, against the doorframe. "I hold two PhDs, quite extensive - training - and access to resources which may become useful in your investigation."
Natalia and Walter looked at each other, then back at their enigmatic guest.
"What in?" Natalia asked, while another part of her mind commented silently, Caine? I can't buy that as a co-incidence...
"Psychiatry and genetics. I am a profiler, of sorts." He gave a faint, honest smile, one touched with humor. "An...associate...of mine insists I have embarked upon the creation of a new field of study. Psychogenetics."
Natalia was suddenly incredibly tired of enigmatic assistance offered with a sprinkling of half-truths.
"Caine?" It had a note of challenge.
Ian silently reassured himself, Horatio knows, and the die is cast. There is no danger in the truth, and they have enough struggles in what they face.
"Yes." The raven-haired man allowed himself the faintest smile, almost unaware of the love and pride that flared in his eyes when next he spoke. "Horatio is my son."

Trent saw his last patient for for his rotation, then slipped into the medication locker.
Donning medical gloves, he plucked three syringes from their box, and pulled down several vials.
Carefully, he filled them with a cocktail of adenazine, cyclobenzaprine, morphine, then took a packet of what looked like sugar from his pocket.
Working with careful precision, he shook a measured amount of cocaine into each of the three filled vials.
While he worked, he remembered how the Order had helped him gain full custody of his daughter from her shrew of a mother.
He paused while that pleasant shiver he loved so much danced along his nerves like the caress of a lover.
Almost eight, and Layla was already so much better at everything he needed than his wife had ever been, thanks to his training.
Smiling as he returned to work, he mixed the drugs, then transferred them to the waiting hypodermics.
Tucking the empty vials into his pocket, he carefully placed the recapped hypos inside his other pocket and tucked the packaging into a sandwich baggie, adding it to the pocket with the empty vials.
Walking briskly to the elevators, his first stop was the ICU.
It was easy to slip past the police guard - it was amazing what a few cups of delivered coffee and a couple of conversations on football could accomplish - and into Brent Thompson's room.
The man lay still on the bed, drugged into pain-free insensibility, as Trent approached.
Carefully avoiding the camera alertly watching the bed, he moved the man's arm slowly, making it look, in the camera's periphery, as if a muscle spasm had moved the extremity.
Leaning down, hands meticulously out of range, he slipped out one of the hypodermics, uncapped it, and inserted it into the IV line.
A moment later, he pulled out the needle, wrapped it in a cotton-stuffed glove, and returned it to his pocket.
He whispered into the doomed man's ear, "Go with God, brother. Your sacrifice will further our hunt."
Brent Thompson would never wake up, and he would never speak of the Order.
Slipping out, Trent was smiling to himself.

Eric came back into the Lab, somehow not surprised to find Jason flipping Twizzler pieces into the air and unerringly into his mouth.
"Jason, what are you doing?" Eric's half-exhausted brain was clamoring for information.
"Chewing." The blonde man replied, voice oddly clear around the gummy substance that had once been candy.
"You know, about right now I could hit you." The young Cuban slid back into his seat, glowering at his guest.
"You could try." was the cheerful response.
Eric half-groaned, half-snarled.
"What do you want?" he grumbled, shuffling papers into a semblance of order.
"World peace, eternal happiness, and constant showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show?"
The Cuban CSI suddenly wished for an anvil to fall on the blonde man's head.
Jason flipped another piece of candy into the air.
"You folks were compromised." Jason replied, chewing. "I'm here ta make sure you guys stay safe."
"Why?" Eric demanded, eyes sharp.
The blonde man shrugged. "Yer parta Horatio's family, an' besides, I kinda like you." he returned.
Brown eyes met grey-blue ones, the dark ones startled. "What?"
Another shrug, and a cheerful grin.
"Some people're just worth dyin' for."
Eric stared at his companion, shocked.
Jason just grinned, and kept right on chewing.

Griffon led Gil into a side-door, then into a huge, warm kitchen. It was not cold and metallic, not impersonal, but marked with rich wood and spice racks with wonderful scents floating on the air.
Pots bubbled cheerfully, and several people - including the younger, dark-haired man who had run past them before - were moving around under Hera's direction.
Two of the group were industriously scrubbing dishes at the huge sink, looking somewhat sheepish and forlorn.
"Hello, Albert - I see you ran afoul of Hera." Griffon's eyes were sparkling with suppressed laughter.
Albert opened his mouth to answer and almost dropped a dish.
Hera promptly smacked the younger man over the head with her ladle, producing a squawk of protest.
The black woman turned, regarding the older vampire and former CSI sternly.
The ladle came down to point at Gil, giving him a stern look.
"Up to your room with you now! I had new clothes lay out for you, pick the ones you feel comfortable with and bring your lovely wife down for dinner, fè tèt di ti gason!"
Gil's expression must have given something away, as Griffon burst out laughing, grey eyes sparkling.
"Go ahead, Doctor Grissom.." he advised, unable to hide his amusement. "Before Hera whacks you over the head!"
Hera threatened the man with her ladle and Griffon hopped easily out of the way, motioning for Gil to make his escape.
Still reeling inside, his guest complied, hearing companionable laughter floating after him.

Trent was thinking about the other injured pair, inwardly seethingly indignant at how they had fallen prey to the Beast.
Cheryl Thomas, one of the most faithful, wounded in her abdomen by one of the CSI whores, and Bruno Chambers, a good man who had slain many of the Beast's servants, had lost most of his hand from the demon's foulest servant! If only they had slain one, just one of the Evil One's servants, the monster and his minions would have been slowed! How could these things hide among the police, pretending to care about true humans?
But, no.
That was doubt.
Doubt led irrevocably to sin, and Trent was determined to remain sinless.
Stopping at the first door on the fourth floor trauma wing, he chatted a few moments with the weary young guard, then mentioned that he needed to check on Cheryl - the wound had to be painful, and infection would be terrible, wouldn't it?
Once admitted, Cheryl's eyes swung up from her reading - Father Andozza's latest sermon, the one referencing the evils of Babylon, and the evil, twisted creatures who aided in the the building of that horrible civilization.
She lowered it to her lap as Trent approached but didn't look at him.
Her face was calm, even peaceful.
Barely moving her lips, she almost-whispered, "You're here to send me to God?"
Careful once more to stay out of the camera range, Trent nodded.
Cheryl's eyes turned with blissful contentment to the tract on her lap, fingers stroking it reverently.
"I'm ready." A moment's pause. "Will it...be painful?"
Trent shook his head. "No, sister. It'll be painless. Quick."
"God is generous to his true servants, isn't he?" She lay her arm down on the bed, leaning back as if settling down for a nap, smiling contentedly.
One step closer, and the cocktail of drugs was injected.
When Trent left the room, Cheryl Thomas was resting peacefully.

Natalia and Walter stared at the tall, dark-haired man, both faces showing shock and curiosity.
"Does Horatio know you're here?" Natalia's head was pounding from exhaustion, too much and too little information simultaneously, and now, curiosity.
Somehow, the question seemed very reasonable.
Ian smiled slightly. "Of a certainty."
It was the easiest clear answer he could give.
"So...uh...H knew you were coming to Miami?" Walter asked, staring at the newcomer.
"A tale for another time, I fear." He indicated Natalia's computer. "May I?"
The brunette regarded him a moment, glanced over at her companion, then back at their guest.
"Only if I can monitor everything you do."
Ian inclined his head. "Of course." he replied.
Natalia scooted her chair to the side, and the tall man tapped in a series of commands.
"What are you doing?" Walter was as curious as his friend.
"Accessing the Interpol database. You may find this interesting."
Natalia looked at the screen and felt a chill go up her spine.

INTERPOL Internal Surveillance, File ATR-7772104-UNRTLV

Agent in Charge: Doctor Ian Caine - provided profile, currently in the field
Current Lead Position: Chief Investigator, attch. Miami Embassy, FL (USA)

Status: Case open

Andozza, Peter - Belgrade, 1987. (Suspicion of money laundering, suspicion of illigal weapon transport, known contact with Pavlovic, Luca).
Pavlovic, Luka - Belgrade, 1987. Known war criminal. Known rapist. Known weapons dealer. 30 confirmed deaths, possibly considerably
higher. Leads known international ring, religious affiliation Holy Order of Purgatory, eighth generation member. Connections to European
branch (suspected murder, suspected drug sales), connections to United States branch (suspected murder, suspected weapon smuggling,
suspected drug smuggling, suspected multiple rapes)
Pettijohn, Charles - England, Great Britain, 1990. (Suspicion of art smuggling, suspicion of art theft), religious affiliation Holy Order of
Purgatory, ninth generation member. Suspicion of contact with several "cults".

Investigations active.

All new data to be forwarded to Chief Investigator Doctor Ian Caine.

DOWNLOAD FILE: Holy Order of Purgatory?

DOWNLOAD/ABORT (If downloading, please enter access code)

Natalia and Walter alike were staring, almost gawking, at the information on the screen.
"You...should have given us this information when you got here." Natalia's voice was harsh, her throat dry.
"CSI had been compromised. We suspected, and thus acted with caution." Both CSIs could have sworn a flicker of lightning flashed in those emerald eyes. "My first concern was, and remains, Horatio."
"That doesn't sound like an Interpol agent talking." Walter blurted it out, then looked embarrassed.
"Ah. And working unending shifts in an attempt to aid my son is, of course, standard operating procedure." Ian smiled inwardly as he tapped in his access code and selected the affirmative option to download the file to the CSI server.
Natalia eyed the download process carefully as the virus and malware scanners came active, then looked up at the enigmatic Interpol agent fiercely.
"It is when Horatio's involved." she returned, eyes as fierce as her voice.
"Damn right!" Walter added, his gaze determined and focused.
Jason wandered past the open door.
"Hi, Boss, bye Boss." he commented cheerfully, as he continued on his way, singing, "You ain't seen nothin' yet, b-b-b-baby, you just ain't seen n-n-nothin' yet...!" in a cheerfully enthusiastic, slightly off-key, light baritone.
Ian smiled faintly and gave a faint shake of his head.
At least we are united in our love for you, Horatio. The raven-haired man thought.
Aloud, he said, "I could not agree more." He tapped the screen absently with a long, slender finger. "I would suggest beginning with this information."
The frustrated CSIs glared.
Ian said nothing, simply steadying himself internally for what was coming, aware of his companions disquiet.
And wishing he could ease it.
But...
His first concern remained his son.
Horatio's safety, his family, his dignity, his future.
My son, I know that you love your family in a deep and loyal way that beats only in time with the most of noble of hearts. But..
Ah, but.
It is time you are not simply told that. Time that you not merely feel it.
It is time you experience it.
And I will stand with you, silent if I must be, until you do.
Because, Horatio, the truth.
To me, and all of mine, you will, now and forever, come first.
My son, you will never again need to stand alone.

Gil was helpfully pointed toward "his" upstairs room by a passing young woman who gave a little whistle of appreciation as he headed toward his destination.
Sara, clad in a beautifully tailored, rich mahogany suit that fit her slender body like a glove and brought out the depths of her dark eyes, looked up to smile a greeting.
"This is fantastic!" she exclaimed, clearly delighted. "New clothes, new shoes - this is like Christmas!"
Spread on the huge, mahogany bed with the equally large mattress, were several sets of hand-tailored, clearly high-end, clothing, three of them clearly fit for Gil.
The room was, he noticed, was nothing short of stunning.
The floors were beautifully carved hardwood, polished to a warm sheen, appointed with rosewood chest-of-drawers, a beautiful wooden wardrobe carved with intricate etchings of birds and flowers, and a couch and three chairs of hand-tooled leather that was clearly butter-soft. A hand-woven carpet that was thick and woven with deep reds and browns and covered a large section of the floor. The walls were soft cream, and looked to be made of very high-quality marble with tiny flecks of light blue.
A truly incredible picture of a living, roiling sea overcast with the very soul of the sky, the sun glowing with a soft, glowing radiance of reds, oranges, and yellows hung on the wall.
Gil found his gaze captured with the soft warmth, the cool sea air he could almost feel on his skin, the peaceful waves that somehow soothed his roiling emotions, all that radiated from the masterpiece carefully placed there.
Sara smiled, noticing her husband's focused look on the artwork.
"It was the first thing I noticed when I came in - it's...incredible, isn't it?." She moved over to stand next to him, a little startled when he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her to him.
His grip was tight, and Sara understood.
For a moment, they held each other, each reveling in the closeness denied them for far too long.
She buried her face in his shoulder, and suddenly found herself crying helplessly into the warmth of his chest, unable to let him go.
"God, I thought I'd lost you." Sara normally did not cry, but the strain of the last few days tore apart her control. "Don't ever do that again. Don't ever leave me like that again!"
It was choked, raw.
"Sara." Gil was clinging to her just as tightly. "Sara, I'm so sorry...I thought...Horatio promised me he'd take care of you. I...I was..." He swallowed hard a few times. "I...I was...dying...I...couldn't..."
She held him tighter.
He didn't let go.
"Horatio...you know him?" Sara was basking in the warmth of her husband's body.
Gil answered more on reflex than anything.
He was far more focused on her body pressed against him, feeling Sara's presence after far, far too long.
"We met at a conference for CSI Supervisors about a month after that case here. He was a speaker there, and kept everyone fascinated." A faint smile at the memory. "He even spoke on insects' place in forensic timelines." He nuzzled against her soft hair, enjoying it's gently floral scent. "He had read my book, Forensic Entomology in Murder Investigation? Sara, he read it. He came over and spoke to me, but it wasn't just about entomology. After ten minutes, I felt like I had known him for years. We - talked." His eyes were closed. "Horatio talked to me as a - it's hard to describe - a person. Not as a scientist, or a fellow CSI - as...well, me. After that conference, we were friends. We stayed in touch, and..." Gil's deep blue eyes closed. "Catherine wasn't the first person to know how I felt about you. Really felt about you. He was. He just...knew. He let me - I think I rambled. Often. But he always seemed to understand, and care..." He swallowed hard, arms holding the woman he could never let go."When I found out - about the cancer - he offered to help, any way he could. He never asked why or how. Just - helped. Looked out for you, wouldn't even let me pay him back. He - didn't like it much that I couldn't tell you." He felt the trembling start, and felt the dangerously strong press of tears. "But he never demanded, he just...I...he just...understood..."
Sara whispered, voice slightly shaky, "He was right. I should really thank that guy."
For a moment they were both silent, letting each other hang on, to feel that tidal wave of love and connection that bound their hearts forever together.
Finally, Sara lifted her head, one hand coming up to gently stroke his face, almost surprised to feel dampness on her fingertips.
She couldn't remember ever seeing her husband cry.
Sara struggled for a few seconds to say what she needed to say, but then spoke softly.
"You're not leaving again." Half question, half plea.
Gil's head came up, his dark blue eyes stormy as an unsettled sea. "Not...unless you want..."
Sara chose that moment to put her hand behind his neck and pulled him down into a very loving, very thorough kiss.
Gil felt himself respond instantly, loathe to let his wife - his wife - go.
Ever again.
"Come on." Sara caught his hand. "The bathroom is just as unbelievable, and you could use a shower."
Gil flushed a little, a tentatively hopeful glint touching his eyes.
Sara's laugh was seventy percent love, ten percent relief, and twenty percent sheer, unadulterated joy.
"Come on. I'll wash your back."
Gil was more than happy to be led.

The moment the door to Coucher de Soleil opened, Calleigh noted the wonderful scent of cooking seafood, the rich tang of spices and peppers, and the scent of frying okra and other vegetables sparking on the air.
The interior was warm and comfortable, with old hardwoods marked with a distinctive reddish sheen, clearly aged but polished regularly, ancient tableware right out of Gone With the Wind, a currently-unoccupied silky-appearing oaken dance floor, and prints of the sea, fishing, and rural life in Louisiana hung on the walls.
Zydeco - she was pretty sure Clifton Chenier was singing the vocals - purred from speakers, loud enough to be heard, but not enough to impede conversation.
The seating was arranged to be warmly comfortable, encouraging conversation and closeness without being cheap in any way.
Clearly a place intended for some level of intimacy.
The maî·tre d, a spry, elderly, smallish man with bright brown eyes and a warm, almost paternal smile, hurried up, a completely unaffected, delighted smile on his thin, friendly face.
"Horatio, mon ami! Tu es magnifique! Il a été trop long!" the voice was rich with a Creole accent. "Ma femme doit vous voir, elle sera ravie!" He beamed at Calleigh. "S'il vous plaît me présenter à cette belle dame?"
Calleigh understood a little French from her childhood in Louisiana, but most of the words flew past her.
To her considerable surprise, a rich, velvet voice replied.
"Bonsoir, Christophe. Comment allez-vous? Et Monique?"
While Calleigh stared at Horatio, the other man snared a hurrying young waiter and spoke rapidly in vivid Creole French.
The boy grinned in reply, nodded vigorously, grinned and waved in greeting to Horatio, then rushed off.
"Vous verrez très vite, mon ami!"
Resting his hand on the one Calleigh had placed on his arm, the redhead continued, "Ceci est Calleigh."
He smiled slightly at Calleigh, a warm and gentle smile, though he looked slightly uncomfortable for some reason.
She wondered suddenly if it has something to do with his obviously fluid grasp of French.
"Calleigh, this is Christophe Allemand. He's an old friend of mine."
Cristophe smiled at Calleigh. "Please be comfortable here, Calleigh. Welcome to the Coucher de Soliel." He grinned impishly. "And please take care of our Horatio, oui? I think my dear friend needs some looking after, non?"
Despite herself, Calleigh smiled back at the friendly man. "Don't worry about that." her voice too had a mischievous tone.
Just then, an older woman with very dark hair and dark eyes rushed up, enveloping Horatio a warm, affectionate hug of greeting.
"Welcome! So, you are the extraordinary soul who managed to get our Horatio out of his den, oui?" She smiled at Horatio, eyes meeting his as they were almost the same height. "I told you, chère, that you deserve have a woman to love and love you again, ai-je pas?"
For a split second, Calleigh felt a surge of possessive jealousy, but then had to smile at the faint flush spreading across Horatio's features.
Oh my God, are his ears turning red?! Though she loved the man, part of her found that somehow hilarious.
"I'm Monique Allemand. Welcome!" She poked Horatio in the side. "Aha! Come now, both of you. I'll settle you, and I'm sure Horatio could recite our menu offhand, but I'll bring you both ones anyway."
Cristophe smiled and nodded, winking at Calleigh in an almost paternal manner.
He speaks French? I know he can speak Spanish like a native, but French? Now, what else about him don't I know? She suddenly grinned, hand light on Horatio's arm.
Calleigh was suddenly very sure it was going to be a lot of fun finding out!

Trent stepped into Bruno Chambers room as the larger man was waking up, stepping just close enough to start to inject his lethal cocktail into his IV.
Bruno's eyes, dark and coldly furious, locked on his as he began to struggle, "No!" he snarled, voice cracked a low due to limitations on his fluids. "I've served the Order for ye...oufff!"
The murderous medical resident had clapped a hand over the bigger, older man's mouth, cursing internally.
He was pretty sure the camera caught the tops of his fingers.
"Then serve it now!" Trent's hiss was almost inaudible. "Go to God with honor, brother!"
Bruno's muscles twitched once, but then went lax, eyes open and full of rage as the muscle relaxant went into almost instant effect.
Finished with his homicidal mission, Trent hurried past the officer on guard with a quick, insincere smile and a feigned, embarrassed comment on a rebelliously upset stomach.
Pleased with his success and completely sure of the Lord's holy armor, the ardent member of the Holy Order of Purgatory made his escape.
A pleasant shiver danced over his skin of his waiting his waiting daughter.
His Layla was eagerly awaiting him!

Gil emerged from the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, feeling better than he had in years.
And, best of all, Sara had scrubbed his back...
A shiver danced up his spine, and suddenly gentle hands were on his back.
"Gil, hold still so I can dry you!" Sara's voice was both affectionate and amused. "I've never seen you so twitchy!"
When he turned, opening his mouth to reply, he heard his wife gasp.
He blinked almost owlishly at her, puzzled, until he felt warm hands trace his sides, down to his waist.
"You're..." Sara's voice trembled very slightly, clearly fighting for control.
Reflexively, he looked down, noted the paleness of his skin, the almost washed-out color...
"My God, I can see your bones!" Sara's voice was sharp will shock and horror.
"I never really thought about it." Gil pulled her into a hug. "I guess I should have noticed the weight loss..."
"Gil?"
"Yes?"
Standing stood tiptoe to press her lips lovingly to his, then eyed him with fiercely protective adoration.
"Shut up, Gil."
Her husband blinked, then felt a smile curving his lips despite himself.
"Yes, dear."

Following the young waiter through the beautiful restaurant area, Calleigh cast an unobtrusive glance at Horatio.
She had to smile as the boy chattered excitedly to the redhead in Creole French, weaving through the room with the ease of experience.
The private table that the young man selected was exquisite, appointed with beautiful, classic china, stunning, hand-blown glasses, and and heavy, ancient silverware that was obviously real silver.
For a moment, Calleigh admired a warm, soothing image on the wall of a snowy owl, wings outstretched, talons poised, dropping from the Miami night sky toward a tree on a rooftop.
It somehow radiated peace, soft caresses of wind, a careful grip, and - freedom.
Henri's voice jolted her from her appreciation of the work of art neatly hanging from the wall above the glossy wood table.
The young waiter smiled at Calleigh, whispering, "Vous êtes un homme chanceux, monsieur!" to Horatio.
"Que je suis, Henri."
Horatio slid a hardwood, leather-upholstered chair out for Calleigh.
I've fallen into a really wonderful scene from Gone With the Wind! I could almost see Scarlett coming down that staircase...
Calleigh could not resist a smile up at Horatio as she settled into the almost sinfully comfortable chair.
His flickered with several shades of intense blue as he returned the smile, scooting Calleigh's chair neatly forward in once easy, graceful movement.
With that unaffected elegance that marked his normal movements, Horatio stepped around the the table and settled himself in the chair across from the petite blonde.
His voice was mild as he glanced up at Henri, who looked to be hanging on his every word.
"Merci, Henri. Comment va ta mère?"
The young man beamed, ducking his head shyly.
"Elle sera mieux bientôt, grâce à vous."
Horatio looked faintly uncomfortable as he replied, "Le plaisir était pour moi."
Henri smiled at Horatio, then Calleigh.
"Je vous ferai un menu, même si nous savons tous les deux que vous ne avez pas besoin."
"Merci, Henri. Et s'il vous plaît. Anglais." Horatio smiled at the young man, and Henri looked embarrassed.
"I apologize, ma'am." His voice was laden with a French accent. He ducked his head again. "I didn't mean to be rude."
The young man's obvious sincerity moved Calleigh to smile reassuringly at Henri, who grinned, turned, and rushed off.
Unable to resist, Calleigh's voice took on a teasing tone. "Okay, Handsome. Want to explain how you came to speak French?"

After finally persuading her balking husband to put on a truly stunning suit of deep, rich blue silk that enhanced the intensity of his deep blue eyes, Sara had to smile as he adjusted his collar twice.
"You look great, Gil." She was secretly delighted at how perfectly the pants and shirt fit his body, without showing the disturbing projection of his bones.
His fingers tightened a little around her's in answer.
With a chuckle, she tugged him toward the door.
Together, they descended the stairs, where Catherine, who was clothed in a stunning suit of pale blue and cream, was waiting.
"So you were able to stuff Grissom into a suit, Sara?" Her eyes were teasing and affectionate as she regarded her dear friends. "It looks good on you."
Gil gave a little shrug, just as Nick and Greg came down the hallway.
Greg was clad in very dark pants with a white shirt that looked incredibly comfortable, while Nick was wearing black pants and shirt with a hand-made black leather jacket.
"Can you believe this?" Nick was the first to speak. "This stuff is all hand-tailored, it must've cost a fortune!"
"I wonder what this Griffon guy wants? I mean, he's being awfully generous." Greg chimed in.
"I don't know, but he seems sincere." Catherine commented. "If he was really up to something, he could have already gotten rid of us. He certainly didn't need to be so..."
"Nice?" Greg completed, with a grin. "I spoke to one of the people here, and mentioned I like rock music. He did too. We had a brief chat, and when I got to my room, I found this!"
He waved a pair of what looked like paper slips under the group's nose.
"Tickets?" Nick asked, moving back to avoid being hit in the younger man's enthusiastic gestures.
"Yeah, backstage tickets! To Led Zeppelin!"
"You said they were sold out." Nick observed, grinning and shaking his head. "You were sulking around the Lab for days when you couldn't get a ticket."
"I wasn't sulking!" objected Gregg.
"Yes you were."
"I wasn't!"
"You were!"
"Children." Gil spoke up, uncharacteristically humorous, triggering a moment's surprised silence followed by laughter.
One of the young men - Arthur - that had been serving kitchen-duty when Gil had passed through trotted up.
"Hi!" He greeted, mock-solemn despite his sparkling dark eyes. "Hera sent me after you guys. Time for supper, and you don't want her to get her knickers in a twist."
The small group from Las Vegas fell in step, with Gil and Sara bringing up the rear.
"Oh, by the way. I'm Arthur. One of Hera's frequent victims." As he spoke, they were entering the kitchen, and he promptly received a whallop on the head from the ladle of woman he mentioned.
"Owwww!" Arthur yelped. "Hera!"
"Be useful and get them a table, petit morveux." The dark-skinned woman menaced the young man with her kitchen implement.
Passing through the cheerfully active kitchen, the group entered a large room, clearly the main dining room.
There were several younger people gathered around, some jostling and joking, some more serious, with the older contingent gathering their food first, several greeting the younger group.
Grinning, Arthur led his charges to a large, beautifully carved table with warm mahogany tones, carvings of mythical creatures, and leather-backed chairs.
With a smile, the young man commented, "Me and Jeyah are on duty, so I'll grab you some food. Any preferences?"
"Chinese?" Sara half-joked, well-aware that her husband had hardly enjoyed his last encounter with his favorite food.
"Sure. Li Hau loves sweet-and-sour everything, and me an' Griffon will eat ANYTHING sweet. Any favorites?"
His friends had to laugh at Gil's expression.
Nick leaned over to whisper to Greg, "I dunno about you, but I'd've asked for a steak..."
"Yeah? Cooked how?" Arthur was grinning.
"Me, too!" Greg added, enthusiastically.
"I don't suppose you have lobster?" Catherine asked, half-serious.
"Yeah." Arthur answered, with a grin at the FBI agent. "With butter, of course."
"Well-done." Nick got in.
"Medium well." Greg volunteered, grinning.
Arthur grinned a question at Sara.
"Umm...shrimp?" she was actually hopeful. Shrimp was a fond memory - Gil had a real talent for seafood, and it had been the last meal they had shared before the nightmare of separation.
"Okay, fried, boiled...?"
"Both." Sara replied, smiling.
"No problem." Arthur leaned forward slightly, whispering conspiratorially to Catherine. "Be easy on Michael, okay? I think he kinda likes you, and he's a really nice guy. Fangs and all."
With a wink, the younger man hurried off, leaving Catherine's startled gaze following him.
A moment later, Griffon came in, chatting cheerfully with Lyre, who was at his side.
The grey-eyed vampire's sharp gaze located the small group clustered around Gil and came over.
"Hello, Doctor Grissom, Sara, Catherine, Nick, and Greg." Griffon grinned. "If I weren't Nightborn, I'd be on the floor gasping for air after that hello, but it's good to see you all."
Lyre sighed, but her eyes were loving amusement at the young-seeming man. "What he means to ask is if we might join you." Her smile was warm and friendly. "If we aren't imposing?'
"It's okay with me." Catherine commented.
There was a chorus of agreement, though Gil was withdrawn and largely silent, expression characteristic of him being in deep thought.
Griffon seated Lyre with a wink and then settled into another chair.
"How are your rooms? Comfortable, I hope?" Griffon's expression was honestly interested.
"Stunning, more like." Catherine replied.
"Glad to hear they're livable." grinned the vampire.
"And thank you for the clothes." added Sara, twining her fingers through her husband's under the table.
"It was our pleasure." replied Lyre, smiling as Arthur hurried up with two huge platters, sliding them neatly onto the polished wooden surface.
"I wasn't sure what you'd all like to drink, so I brought coffee, tea, juice, and some sodas." the young man commented. "Hi, Griffon, Lyre."
"Still on Hera's bad side?" Griffon's eyebrows rose, eyes sparkling with humor.
"Gah. Don't remind me." Arthur replied, straightening up and rolling his eyes.
"Really, Arthur!" Lyre was gently chiding."You've lived almost a century, I would think you knew when to pick your battles."
Several CSI-sharp pairs of eyes were on Arthur at the woman's comment.
The dark-haired younger man raised both hands in mock-horror. "Hey! I'm only eighty-seven!"
"Going on seven." Griffon commented, with a grin.
Arthur grinned back, winked at the guests, then turned and headed off, tossing over his shoulder, "If you need anything, I'll be around!"
Griffon smiled, suggesting, "Why don't we all eat, then you folks can get some sleep." He grinned. "Then we'll talk about sending you folks back out to Miami CSI to help them out."
And with this level of trouble, they're gonna need all he help they can get.

Horatio regarded Calleigh a moment, then replied quietly, "I learned before I came to Miami."
Why does he sound like knowing another language is something to be ashamed of? The blonde thought, puzzled.
The - what? memory? experience? - flashed in her mind.
The shopkeeper, her mention of Horatio as a child helping her, coming in alone to read the shop's books...
"Horatio, trust me. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
The redhead seemed to hesitate a split second, then replied, "Cristophe and Monique were setting up the restaurant, and I spoke some French. They helped me learn some Creole."
"What other secrets are you keeping, Handsome?" It was only half a joke, but a flicker of discomfort flickered in the redhead's eyes.
It was then Calleigh realized something, something that melted her heart.
Horatio was letting her see his emotions, leaving himself open to her scrutiny.
Changing the subject, the petite blonde asked, "What's good here, Horatio?"
He didn't even glance at the menu before replying, "Most everything."
She grinned. "Okay, just for that, you order both of us!"
Horatio regarded her a moment, then a faint smile touched his lips.
Henri came hurrying up, and grinned at the redhead's expression.
"There was almost a free-for-all on who got to take your order, Monsieur Horatio - but like most of the time, I won!"
Calleigh had to fight down laughter at her date's bemused expression.
The young man grinned brightly at the blonde, then back at Horatio.
"He's ordering." The blonde's expression was mischievous.
Without missing a beat, Horatio replied, "Oysters Bienville, chicken gumbo, crawfish étouffée, dirty rice, and Doberge cake, with a Beaujolais, please."
The young waiter nodded, scribbled something on his order pad, and hurried off.
Despite herself, Calleigh was impressed - and delighted.
"Some of my favorites, Handsome! How did you know?"
"Observation." Horatio gave a slight, gentle smile.
"What?'
Horatio's hand lightly covered her own. "A.) You're from Louisiana, B) you often bring crawfish to work for lunch, and C.) you enjoy most things of the spicy variety."
"In more ways than one!" Calliegh could not resist teasing.
Mostly teasing - well, slightly teasing...
Horatio smiled slightly, head cocking slightly to one side.
"You'll enjoy the food, then." he murmured.
"I'm enjoying the company more, Handsome!"
Horatio's eyes sparkled with azure and cobalt as he replied softly, "Likewise."

Natalia looked at Walter, then back at Ian.
"Do you really want to help us?" Walter half-demanded, too exhausted for tact.
"I always did."
"Then why the Hell didn't you come forward before now?!" exploded Natalia.
The raven-haired man understood, and sympathized more than the CSIs knew.
"As I said, I believed there was danger in revealing too much." His long fingers tapped lightly against the doorframe. "And also - my first and foremost concern was - and remains - Horatio."
Before the brunette could reply, Stetler stalked in.
"What the Hell is going on?! The Thorpe case is still open!" he demanded, sharply.
Time to put these incompetents in their place, the IAB agent snarled to himself.
Ian turned, regarding the newcomer with emerald eyes shot with lightning.
He lifted an index finger, voice turning to arctic danger.
"Detective, you have seen nothing. You will leave this laboratory, seat yourself in the reception area, and remain there for the next thirty minutes."
Both CSIs stared as Detective Rick Stetler's eyes went completely empty and blank.
Ian lowered his hand and commanded softly. "Go."
Without another word, Stetler turned and walked away.
Walter looked over at their enigmatic visitor, a grin spreading across his face.
"Did you just use the Jedi Mind Trick on Stetler?" he asked, chuckling despite himself.
"Forcefully." deadpanned was the tall Interpol agent in reply.

"I didn't know you enjoyed Creole, Handsome." Calleigh said, meeting the sapphire gaze forthrightly.
She found herself using the loving nickname over and over, because he was.
Inside and out.
But in her heart, "Handsome" was an understatement, and "beautiful" seemed too feminine.
"Regal", fit Horatio like a glove, but it seemed too offsetting, too impersonal - and she found herself laughing inwardly as realization hit.
I'm running out of adjectives. The thought was bright, effervescent. I never doubted it, but I am definitely in love...
"Thank you, Calleigh." The soft tones were velvet and smoke.
She stared at him, confused, as his voice jolted her from her thoughts.
"I should thank you, Handsome!" Her smile was brilliant.
"You were there - after that dream." Those sapphire eyes were soothing as an ocean tide, warm as the summer sun - and open as the starry sky.
Calleigh reached out, resting her hand on his, feeling the warmth of his skin.
"I'm not leaving you, Horatio." Her green eyes were steady, determined, and bright with warmth. "Not for a bad dream, not for anything. Got it?"
The last was gently humorous, but the redhead returned her gaze, eyes touched with a kind of bone-aching sadness.
"I...I'm still damaged, Calleigh..." It was a last effort to warn her, to let her go, so she could have someone else, someone without his - his control slammed down - past.
"Horatio, I love you for you. Your past isn't going to drive me away, and I'm always going to be with you. Understand, Lieutenant?"
The aching sadness receded, and the smile touched his eyes, adding that rare, beautiful sparkle.
"I see I'm out-gunned, Bullet Girl."
Calleigh had to laugh at that comment, not just for the deadpan humor, but for the stunning, heart-filling knowledge that he was letting her in.
She wasn't blind, and was abundantly aware that he had layers of guarded pain wrapped around - and she was suddenly absolutely sure of this - a sensitive and gentle soul.
It would take time for even someone with the boundless strength and courage of Horatio Caine to let all those barriers down, but the fact he had dropped his guard this much meant one thing.
He not only loved her, he trusted her.
Even if it revealed vulnerability, even if it threatened pain, he had given her a glimpse of this true self, as Horatio, not Lieutenant Caine.
Trust.
Time to return the favor. Calleigh thought, fiercely. Trust is not going to be a one-way street, Horatio, Not this time, not ever again.
"You know Daddy's an alcoholic." she started, hating the tentativeness of her words.
"Calleigh..." His eyes were full of empathic compassion.
"I've never talked about it." She looked up into his eyes. "I've always felt safe with you. So now - I think I can. I think I should."
His hand turned under her's, fingertips lightly caressing her palm in gentle encouragement.
"But it didn't start until I was thirteen or so." The memories were surprisingly easy to relive, with Horatio's gentle, reassuring presence.
Taking a deep breath, she went on.
"Before then, Mother was the alcoholic." The blonde refused to look away from those twin pools of compassionate, tender reassurance. "She was always after Daddy for something, usually money." It still stung, but she went on determinedly. "Mother's family were real blue-bloods, tracing their backgrounds back to the old aristocracy of Louisiana. But Mother's father - he was a gambler, a drunk, and a womanizer. It took him twenty years, but he blew through the family money until all that was left was the name." A short, humorless laugh. "All the Martels I ever met were interested in one thing: money. Daddy being a lawyer, I was always sure Mother married him to get his. Money, I mean. Before I was born, he had savings. Mother always took from it, and by the time I was three, that was gone." Calleigh paused for a breath, drawing strength from an outside source whose name was Horatio, then continued, "Mike and Charlie, my brothers, were almost thirteen when I was born. Mike's a lot like Daddy was, when he was younger. He's a lawyer now, but he and Mother were always fighting. Charlie - well, he's the family's wild child." Her smile was fond, thinking of her brothers. She looked up at Horatio and managed a smile. "Mike and Charlie - they were the best brothers, always taking me along, always making it clear that we were a package deal to their friends. Mike taught me to ride a bike, but Charlie taught me to climb trees!" A scowl touched Calleigh's beautiful features. "Mother wanted me to be a real "society girl", but by then, I was a tomboy through and through, and she never could get me into a dress with me destroying it. She never did forgive me." She was grateful for the gentle, supportive squeeze of Horatio's fingers. "Daddy's always telling us and everybody else that he was the cause of that nasty divorce, but we were never fooled. It wasn't him. It was her." Her eyes closed. "How can a father tell his kids his wife was sneaking around with other men? Much less getting pregnant." That most painful memory choked her voice. "Of course, she had an abortion. Nothing was gonna tie her down." Horatio was holding her hand in both of his, a quiet, soothing comfort. Calleigh felt tears slipping past her eyelids despite herself, felt a gentle caress soothe them aside. She looked up into the most loving, gentle, empathic gaze that she could have ever imagined. "She waited. Horatio, oh God, she waited until she was six months pregnant! Daddy walked into it, into that room, and I know, we all knew, she cried. The baby...she cried." The tears, tears the strong, independent, fiery Calleigh Dusquene had never let fall were now falling into the soft fabric of Horatio's shirt. Tears for a lost little sister who never even got a chance to live. Who was lost after only minutes of crying her way into the world.
Feeling his arms around her, shielding her from the pain of memory with a strong, warm, soothing arms, Calleigh felt something deep inside her heart - relax.
Horatio's vivid eyes were a rich azure, silently sharing her pain, empathizing, understanding.
One brief flash flickered into the blonde's mind and heart.
They had both lost younger siblings.
It was a torn pain they shared.
She was grateful for the table's isolated position as she leaned into Horatio's warmth, his tender comfort. "For, God, I can't even remember exactly, but it was a long time. Then - she just stopped. Daddy - it broke something in him, it was the most horrible - I hated Mother after that." It was an admission.
It was - liberating, freeing, to finally say that out loud.
"Mike and Charlie ignored her, but I hated her. I think I still do. Daddy moved to Miami after you hired me, moved his practice, but Mother won't leave him alone. He still loves her," Her voice was brittle and angry, "But I can't. I...can't."
For a moment, bless him, Horatio let her cry silently into his warm shoulder, one hand rubbing gentle, soothing patterns on her back, the other lightly stroking her hair.
"I'm sorry, Calleigh." His voice was velvet-warm, liquid-tender. He gently tilted her head back with light fingertips under her chin. "There was nothing you could have done."
Neither could you, she desperately wanted to say, but she knew that now was not the time to haul Horatio's demons to the surface.
Gently, the redhead wiped her face with a napkin, so softly that it was more of a caress, then pressed a glass of ice-cold water into her hand, his other hand still holding her's.
"I'm sorry, Handsome." she managed, after a moment. But she did feel - lighter. Cleaner, somehow. "I didn't mean to dump all that on you..."
Quickly, she raised the glass to her lips, taking a swallow of the cool, pure water.
He shook his head and rested his hand on her's again.
"I'm not leaving either, Beautiful. Ever."
The tears dried up almost instantly, and Calleigh felt something in her - ease.
The old pain, the anger, the disgust, faded in the face of Horatio's love.
Falling nothing! I just jumped right into love!
Seeing Henri approaching with a laden pair of platters, she shooed Horatio back into his seat with a brilliant smile of love and renewed calm.
The young waiter expertly maneuvered the food into position in front of both of them, added a silver bucket with ice and a solitary bottle in between the plates, then added two crystal-cut glasses.
With a friendly wink at Calleigh, the young man withdrew.
The aromas were of everything positive in New Orleans to Calleigh, of dinners with her father and brothers at The Ruby Slipper Cafe - though, she had to admit, this smelled better - of laughter with schoolfriends and teasing her brothers mercilessly about their girlfriends and them returning the favor with her boyfriends, of Louisiana and New Orleans and history and home.
As she dug in with as much restraint as feeling nearly-starved would allow, she paused enough to note the understated elegance of Horatio's old-school table manners.
With inward chuckle, she thought, He'd have the British high society girls fighting over him. Her lips curved in a smile as she took another delectable bite of oyster. Good thing they're over the sea. I don't think being a CSI would help with the amount of violence that would cause...
They ate in companionable silence, both enjoying the flavors and artfully combined textures.
The Deberge cake was the last part of the meal, the alternations of sweet, cool frosting and cream making her give a little sigh of pleasure.
Calleigh really had no idea how much pleasant time had passed when Horatio poured them each a measured amount of wine, settled the re-corked bottle back in the icy bucket., and raised his glass in an elegant salute.
"Pour l'amour, l'avenir, et à tous les oppertunites devant nous." he murmured.
The blonde laughed and playfully swatted his free hand. "Cut it out, Handsome! Do you want my New Orleans citizenship to be revoked?"
Horatio's eyes turned a mesmerizing shade of argent and azure, eyes it was so easy for her to fall into, to feel the warmth glowing within them.
"To love, the future, and to all the opportunities before us." he translated, softly, and Calleigh stared back into those bottomless pools of infinite shades of blue for a long time.
"To love, and the best of times." Calleigh returned, smiling.
They both drank, as if sealing a promise.
As, she knew somehow, they were.
Music began to flow from the speakers near the dance floor, music that somehow spoke of love and hope and tenderness, of care and shared compassion, underscored with almost-hidden, swirling passion.
It had the faint beat of zydeco, but there was a richness, a fullness, that Calleigh had never heard before.
With catlike grace, Horatio rose, gently brought her hand to his lips, and asked in that whiskey-touched velvet that was both fiery and mysterious, "May I have this dance?"
Calleigh barely remembered crossing the dining room floor, because the next thing her mind registered was Horatio's arms around her, guiding her gently through a dance she didn't know she knew.
She felt - safe.
Loved.
Wanted.
Somehow, in Horatio's arms, the dance they shared seemed natural, gently intimate, and tenderly slow.
A gentle spin, and she had to stop, staring up into his captivating eyes, that gaze now so open and warm.
She was suddenly afraid she might cry in the face of the joy it raised.
Her brilliant smile was accompanied by thought that made her smile all the wider.
He's wearing blue jeans. He speaks French. He can dance. I think I feel my gun melting...
Horatio's fingers threaded gently through her's, his eyes sparkling with all shades of blue, settling on that intense, loving azure.
As they exited the floor, her hand still held in his, she commented, "I'm going to have to get a copy of that song."
She nearly ran into Cristophe, who grinned at her and replied, "That should be easy, mademoiselle."
"You know the composer?" Calleigh paused, glancing up at the man hopefully.
That music was the type that could be listened to over and over, each time a new experience of musical texture and smouldering embers of emotion.
"I should hope so." Cristophe replied, and Calleigh felt the redhead stiffen, his gaze turn sharply to the older man, who studiously avoided meeting that glare.
"Who wrote it?"
Cristophe's smile was absolutely unrepentant as he jerked his chin at the Horatio. "He did."
As the older man escaped the deadly gaze of Lieutenant Horatio Caine, Calleigh had to laugh to herself, shaking her head in amusement.
One more clue into the mystery that is Horatio. The thought was almost gleeful.
Just as she was opening her mouth, both their cellphones began to beep insistently.
She closed her eyes and counted to ten via curses that would make a sailor collapse in a faint.
Horatio had turned to speak to his friend, but the older man shook his head in fond exasperation.
"Absolument pas, jeune homme! Aller avec votre belle dame, mon ami, et de revenir bientôt!" He gave Horatio a gentle but firm shove toward the door, and Calleigh smiled, enjoying the feel of her date's hand in her's as they made their way toward the door, in perfect sync.
By the time they were back in Horatio's car and headed back to CSI, Calleigh realized that they had that back, that powerful sensation she had missed tried to ignore.
Perfect sync.

Speed and Max matched each other stride as they exited the elevator, heading into the parking lot.
They had agreed that the parking lot was a possible source of trace evidence, and were headed to the far east of the area, eyes on the pavement.
Neither of them expected the violent tackles that threw them to the ground almost in unison, Max's head hitting the ground with an alarming crack!
Speed, however, was the beneficiary of training from the very best, and his body remembered the first rule of fighting: know how to land.
Rolling, he felt the second man snap something around his neck as Max's attacker went flying from a violent roundhouse punch.
The other man gave a high pitched squeal as Speed's left toes slammed viciously into a particularly sensitive part of the male anatomy, doubling over in pain.
Max roared something as the parking lot was suddenly swarming with security, one officer picking up something silver that glinted in the sun.
Cop, Speed's adrenaline-loaded brain reported in, as the two men were hauled into angry custody, falling under a pile of enraged officers - who were obviously restraining themselves with effort - and yelling, cursing, struggling attackers.
He started to reach for the tension around his neck.
"Don't touch it!" Max's voice was so urgent that the other man froze reflexively.
"What is it?" the dark-haired man demanded, as the other CSI ordered everyone back.
Max ducked down to get a better look, and swore inventively.
"I think it's some kind of timer - damn, this thing is solid metal - locked at the neck - 8 minutes? What the - damn!" His black eyes met brown ones, wide with horror. "It's a pipe bomb!"

Ryan closed the cellphone, pleased that both Horatio and Calleigh's phones were now receiving.
Zach looked up from the third fingerprint they matched to other crimes in the United States.
"You think it'll take long for them to get here?" The albino was curious. "Max is our fastest driver, but riding with him can be an - ah - adventure!"
The other CSI grinned. "Are you kidding? If there's a crime scene, Horatio's gonna be there faster than light! He and Eric are our fastest drivers."
"Goody!" exclaimed Jason, leaning in the door with a rakish grin. "We should put a "H" spotlight on the roof!"
Ryan spun and glared at the blonde man. "Are you still here?" he grumbled.
"I may start sleeping in a broom closet."
The young man turned back to the work at hand with a snort, but smiling despite himself. "You have no boundaries." he grouched.
"Sure I do!" was the irrepressibly cheerful reply. "I just have this problem with finding them."
As he wandered off again, Ryan sighed and shook his head.
"What have we gotten into?" he muttered, but a part of him was too curious to deny one question.
Who was the enigmatic Jason?

Horatio's sharp gaze took in the struggle in the parking lot, and the moment he could stop the car, he was off and running in the blink of an eye.
Damn, whatever happened, he's even faster! Calleigh thought, as she followed him, lagging a few paces behind him.
"Speed!" Horatio called, taking in the scene with typical, uncanny alacrity.
"H!" The younger man was standing absolutely still, as Max peered at the bomb, dark eyes vacillating between horror and fury.
At that moment, Frank's voice was heard ordering everyone back, issuing a sharp command of, "Get these two outta here!"
He did a double-take that would have been comical under other circumstances when he saw Horatio stop on the proverbial dime in front of his former/current CSI, one hand dropping into his pocket.
"Bomb squad's stuck on Coyocho, damn bomb went off in a trash can, blew out windows, they're on their way now..."
Horatio didn't even pause as he ducked down, a small set of tools in his left hand, dropping onto one knee with silent grace..
Withdrawing a small, thin piece of treated metal, he looked up at the device's underside.
"It's got a mercury switch. Frank, move everyone back - you and Calleigh included. Max, go with them." Using the hand holding the open kit, he steadied the device, making a rapid analysis.
No, no, no! The denial blazed crazily through Calleigh's mind, as she unconsciously shook off Frank's hand and hurried to steady the bomb with her own hands.
Speed's dark eyes met her green ones, and the blonde woman gave a sharp, almost angry shake of her head.
Hands free, the redhead removed what looked like a retractable dental mirror and moved it carefully along the bomb, pausing a few times.
52 seconds, part of Calleigh's mind reported, with almost eerie calm.
Horatio's right hand was under the booby-trapped cylinder.
45 seconds...
Horatio lightly ran one finger along the seam.
30 seconds...
He tilted his head far enough to the side that the side of his face almost touched his shoulder.
25 seconds...
Using the straight instrument, the redhead pressed lightly against a particular point near the back of the device, while everyone stayed completely frozen.
The sunlight seem to freeze in place.
There was an eerie, total silence as even the wind held it's breath.
15 seconds...
Another tool, this one resembling tweezers, was inserted into the seam, while the straight line of the other stayed uncannily still in it's position.
8 seconds...
Carefully, hand barely seeming to move, Horatio pressed in with the tweezer-tool, gently applying equal pressure along the sides,
4 seconds...
Using one finger as a guide, he pressed in the tip of the straight tool..
2 seconds...
The faint click sounded like a gunshot in the still silence.
Keeping the hand using the tool absolutely motionless, Horatio slid the device smoothly forward.
Someone was saying something, and what looked like a thick-sided trashcan was lowered down next to Horatio, the newly-arrived woman holding a thick, pressure-seal lid up as Horatio turned at the waist, gingerly lowering the unexploded bomb into the receptacle in one smooth, graceful movement.
"You haven't lost your touch, Horatio." Katrina Cabrera, the head bomb tech, was grinning as she lowered the lid down onto the container.
Horatio met the woman's gaze and replied quietly, "I try to keep up with the times."
Katrina laughed, shaking her head fondly, as she nodded to the bomb technicians behind her.
The redhead looked up as two men, wearing bomb-disposal gear joined them.
Calleigh sagged slightly in relief as Frank released a long breath, as a vaguely familiar form lifted the sealed container easily up, while Max steadied Speed.
"Hey, Horatio! Hi, Speed, Calleigh!" The familiar, light baritone greeted.
The blonde woman stared at the familiar younger man, abundantly aware of Horatio rising to his feet in one smooth, easy movement.
"Jason! What the Hell..." Calleigh's voice was sharp as the grinning man stepped back, still holding the the bomb-holding container, and started toward the back of the lot.
"Boom boom boom boom, bang bang bang bang!" was the cheerful singsong, as the blonde man was joined by two slightly puzzled members of the Bomb Squard, all moving with cautious speed.
"Who was that guy?" the ranking bomb tech asked Horatio.
"We're not entirely sure." Calleigh cut in, as a gleefully rebellious part of her mind inquired evilly about "bomb sex".
"Everyone all right?" Horatio's velvet tones asked.
Calleigh's only thought was an internal, silent plea that no blush be spreading happily across her face.
"One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, and thar she blow!"Jason commented, cheerfully, in the distance.
As Calleigh turned to reply, there was a muffled "boom!" and a faintly muffled whoop.
Speed lifted one hand to cover his eyes.
"Thanks, H." he said, quietly.
There was more to it than gratitude for disarming the bomb, Speed knew.
It was thank you for being here, thank you for coming through this...
Thank you for being the only man I ever really thought of as a father.
Jason trotted back up, looking like a kid who had just gotten to set off fireworks.
"Now that coulda been one hot time inna ol' town tonight!" The blonde man joined them, hopping gleefully from one foot to the other as Eric and a small group of part-concened, part curious techs approahed at speed.
Calleigh looked up at Horatio, over at Speed, and turned to offer a glaring comment at the irrepressible blonde man.
Speed leaned over to murmur softly in her ear, "Don't give him fuel."
Eric had come to a halt less than a foot from the older - younger?- the Cuban CSI's brain tried to wrap around the sight of the apparently-recovered redhead, staring at him as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "Hh - H? His words were an uncharacteristic stumble.
"I seem to have missed the fun." deadpanned Horatio, a slight smile of greeting on his lips.
"Fire, fire, fire!" sang Jason.
"Don't tempt me." muttered Calleigh, stepping slightly closer to the Lieutenant she loved and glaring at Jason.
Speed rolled his eyes to Heaven, as though seeking divine strength.
Max shook his head, a slight, rueful grin on his face.
Jason - being, well, Jason - grinned his chartacteristic grin, and all but bounced on his toes in enthusiastic glee.
And in a not-so-distant CSI Lab, Natalia and Walter were slightly puzzled when a certain emerald-eyed visitor smiled a slightly mysterious smile.

Horatio checked over Speed and Max with one sharp glance, then turned to Calleigh, but noticing her determined look and stubbornly lifted chin, he only gave her a stern - but concerned - look.
Frank stared at his friend for a long moment, then said carefully, "Welcome back, Horatio - you look - umm - great!"
Eric was watching the redhead, not certain of the all-too-visible changes that his eyes were reported.
He looked over at Calleigh, giving her a smile at seeing her safe, then looked questioningly back at his boss.
Calleigh grinned brightly, unable to help herself, then gave a little shrug.
All right, H! Eric's heart cheered, while a tiny part of him bid Calleigh good-bye, seeing her gaze go to the redhead, then meet his.
The younger CSI realized he was - happy.
Happy for her, and very happy for Horatio.
For a moment, the Cuban smiled outwardly as well.
He could swear he - felt? - Marisol smile.

Peter Andozza was pleased with Trent's called-in report, and had told the younger man he had done well.
Which he had.
He glanced over at the weasel-faced man, nodding.
"He did well, Viktor. We should entrust the boy with a bit more." The older man nodded to himself. "Have Joseph and Matthew departed on the new mission?"
"Of course." Viktor's voice was dark-oily, cracked-ice cold. "We know more, Holy Father. The woman might try to retrieve the girl, and he is the better for her. She must die, Father."
Andozza nodded. "If the Order is to continue and grow, the Pure must have spiritually healthy children, devoted to our Holy Cause." He scowled, remembering the woman he had blessed with children - the woman who had stolen them from his care, who had betrayed him. "There is no surer way than fathers giving their daughters Sacred Blessings. Have there been any added to the Flock?"
Viktor smiled, revealing evidence of his recently-defeated smoking habit. "Three, Father. Only one girl, but there will be more. We shall not fail."
The older man nodded approval.
"We may require your special services soon."
The dark smile was eager as Viktor's dark eyes flashed with anticipation.

Horatio was honestly unprepared for the explosion of cheers that broke out when he entered the Lab.
Calleigh, who was right behind him, looked back at Eric, and both smothered a grin as techs appeared at doors, while Valera was among the small group that threw decorum to the wind and hugged the returned Lieutenant, while others patted his pack and chattered enthusiastically near him.
Frank looked sidelong at his friend, who now looked - different.
He found himself thinking that Horatio looked - alive.
And damn, he looks like a kid! The Detective Sergant thought, shaking his head.
Ryan and Zach shot from the Lab, and while the young albino was too shy for more than a smile, the other CSI hurried to greet the redhead with a welcoming grin.
Then Ryan's gaze fixed on Horatio's face and he practically froze in place with surprise.
Adryan - who was in the building filing a report - came around the corner, regarded the gathered group, and fought down a smile in favor of a sharp nod.
Jason all but bounced in after Eric, grinning at the group's shared startlement.
"Change changing places, root yourself to the ground, capitalize on this good fortune, one word can bring you round..." The blonde man was singing cheerfully, when Speed - who had entered just before Max - rolled his eyes and snorted.
"Do you ever stop?" the former CSI hissed under his breath.
"Hey, music soothes the savage beast. An' in case ya missed it, I am a Savage."
Speed muttered something less than complimentary, shaking his head.
"Blame the American dicta - ahem - government - fer givin' my dad's family the name, Speedo."
Though he glared, Speed knew better than to add to the younger man's momentum, simply giving an internal sigh.

Natalia, Walter, and Ian heard the happy cacophony outside and after discovering that two people didn't fit through the door very well, the dark-haired woman was first out the door, then Walter, then finally Ian, who stayed back and slightly hidden.
"Horatio!" both CSIs called, almost simultaneously, and the redhead had just enough to turn to find himself engulfed in a hug from Natalia, and recieve an enthusiastically relieved pat on the back from Walter.
Calleigh was watching the enthusiastic greeting the startled redhead was greeting, and caught Ian's eye, giving him a slight nod and a smile.
Horatio paused in thanking people for their concern just long enough for Jason to shoot him a grin and a wave.
Ian smiled quietly, quoting softly, "Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed."
Ryan looked at Horatio, pleased at his nod of encouragement and approving pride, then followed Zach back into the Documents Lab.
When the halls finally cleared of personnel, Eric blurted out, "You had a message from a Jack Frost, H."
Why he said that, he wasn't sure, but it was the most - sane - thing that crossed his mind.
Which was more than a little chaotic at the moment, anyway.
Horatio's gaze suddenly closed off, as if he were hiding something.
"Jack called here?" his voice was steady, unreadable.
"He sounded like it was urgent." Eric was kicking himself for not saying "Welcome back!" or "Thank God!", but he went on, "Something about kids."
The redhead said nothing, his gaze turned inward, his expression revealing nothing.
"The shift's almost over, H. I'll drive you." the Cuban CSI offered.
"That's not..."
Calleigh jumped in before the man she loved could withdraw again.
"I'll come with you." She met the sapphire gaze that met her's not with a demand, but a silent plea for him to not shut them out.
Horatio closed his eyes a moment, hoping the people he loved wouldn't - see - but, he struggled against his - need? - for no-one to ever know, focusing on his love as desperately as a drowning man would grasp a lifeline.
"Thank you." was all he said, but it was tacit agreement.
Ian regarded his son with quiet - and increased - love and pride, then ducked back into the Lab.
Go, my son. Let the see who you are. Let yourself be all you are.

Jason slipped easily around to Holding, produced the key he had filched and fully intended to return, and slid inside soundlessly.
Three of the men there didn't recognize the blonde man, but the to-be-former cop jerked in alarm when he saw the younger man.
"Well." drawled the visitor, eyes showing nothing. "I guess that taskforce ya were tryin' to sic on us just grew little birdy wings and flew away."
The cop glared. "They'll find about you." It was an accusation more than a threat. "What you do - what you did!"
Jason's laugh was not cheerful, but sinister. "An' you think it'll make a difference, you twit? I stand by my choices, fella. An' I fully intend on takin' on - oh - special duties?"
The incarcerated cop - his nametag said Green - turned pale. "You - you can't!"
"Won't be a worry fer you, yer not gonna see daylight 'til yer in yer eighties, if yer lucky, and trust me, ya ain't." A dangerous, wolfish smile. "Enjoy yer new digs. I'm outta here."
He didn't look back, but met Speed outside the door, tossing him the key.
"Looks like they bought it." the dark-haired man commented, sardonically.
"Best way t' scare the Hell out of a psychopath - tell 'em the truth." Jason grinned.
Speed stared at his friend. "You mean you're..."
"Yeah."
"Does Ian know?"
"Prob'ly. You know Ian, anything to do with Horatio..." His shrug was somehow fond. "Ya think I can't do the job?"
The former CSI considered, then rolled his eyes. "Nah, but I am scared of how well you'll do it."
Jason swatted Speed on the arm in a friendly gesture. "C'mon, bro. Let's go get back inna game."
"Game." Speed's snort spoke volumes. "What'll you do if your game gets found out, Jase?'
The blonde grinned. "Cheat."

It was ten minutes before Horatio - who insisted on completing some catch-up paperwork - and Calleigh and Eric headed for Ballistics.
Meeting in the hallway, Eric asked, "What do you think Horatio was so secretive about? He looked almost like he was gonna make a break for it."
He was concerned, a little worried he had overstepped an unspoken boundary.
"I'm not sure." The blonde woman shook her head. "But I know one thing - he has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."
Eric smiled. "That's for sure."

Ian watched the two CSIs return, a faint smile on his face.
Natalia stopped, glancing over at the mysterious man.
Something in his face - what is it that reminds me of Horatio? she thought, puzzled.
It wasn't anything blatant, anything specific, but something was there - something subtle but very real.
She couldn't put her finger on it, but she could believe that this man was the father of Horatio Caine.
Ian Caine, she thought to herself. Interpol?
Walter followed her alert gaze.
"B.V.?" he half-asked.
Ian turned to regard them both, lifting an eyebrow with a sight smile.
"Ah. My son was wise to hire you both. I can see the curiosity, the need to know, in all of you."
"We all learned from the best." Walter commented.
A smile that touched Ian's emerald eyes was the only answer.

Horatio tried not to think too deeply on their destination, but he was abundantly aware that Calleigh and Eric would see.
They would know, and it was hard to allow himself to acknowledge that.
But his control let him hide his internal disquiet as he gave directions.
After a moment of battling Miami traffic, he nodded toward a building.
"Here." he said, simply.
Calleigh looked over at a familiar structure. "This is pretty close to that center for the performing arts..."
She had seen advertisements for the place, but at the moment, the name escaped her.
"The Adrienne Arsht Center for the Performing Arts." Horatio replied, absently.
The petite blonde and the tall Cuban exchanged a look as they found a parking place.
Looking up, Eric read the sign out loud. "The Frost Company?" It was half a question.
Falling in step with Horatio, Calleigh commented, "I've heard of them, but I don't know much about them other than they've been all over the world." When Eric looked questioning, she explained, "I remember a news piece on them settling in Miami, several years ago."
With his characteristic, cat-like grace, the redhead guided them inside, nodded a greeting to a guard, and they passed without comment.
After a few minutes of walking, Horatio opened a startlingly elegant door and held it for them to enter first, bringing up the rear.
They entered to chaos!
Several children, ranging from their teens to elementary age, were flailing and yelling in a discordant heap, shouts of "It's my turn!", "Isn't!", "Get off, yer foot in in my back!", "He did it first!" and other comments emerging from the rolling mass of arms and legs.
Without a word, Horatio shot forward, waded into the battle, and was pulling children off each other.
"Sinan, let go of Jaylee. Terry! Off! Now!"
One girl, a slender, dark-haired pixie with dark hair and striking, chocolate-brown eyes caught a glance of Horatio and her whole face lit up.
"Amah!" she shouted, and there was a sudden herd of excited children rushing the redhead, their enthusiasm almost knocking even the sure-footed Lieutenant back a pace.
The shouting, happy little mob was all but jumping up and down, one girl asking if he had "caught any bad guys" while a rather small boy tugged on Horatio's sleeve, announcing "I did like you showed me, Amah - I got an A!"
Despite the chaos, Horatio greeted each child by name, and his shocked companions - and both were doing rather amusing imitations of guppies out of water - and they picked up names: Sinan, Hana, Terry, Jaylee, and Andrew were some, among several others - all of whom were mobbing the redhead.
Weaving through the kids, a tall man with white-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, met Horatio in the midst of the somehow still rampage.
"Horatio! Thank God, I thought the rugrats were gonna turn this place into collateral damage!" He looked over at Callleigh and Eric, then grinned. "So you brought somma yer family?"
"I heard you made a distress call to CSI, Jack." Horatio replied, not quite looking back at the pair of CSIs who had wisely stayed out of range and showing a flash of his rare humor.
"Hell, yeah! You know the kids, just before they hit the stage they get into a free-for-all."
The small girl with the dark eyes tugged on Horatio's pants leg.
"Amah, you promised, remember?" Her eyes were shining with hope.
Jack shrugged, but there was a flicker of humor in his eyes.
When Horatio glanced back at his still-silent family, the taller man laughed, shaking his head.
"I'll go say hi, Firefoot, go ahead."
Horatio's glare at the nickname was lost on Jack as he hurried over to Calleigh and Eric.
"Amah?" the little girl pled-demanded.
The redhead summoned up a smile, even though his stomach was clenching.
They could never know...
"You're right, Hana. I promised." His eyes swept the children. "Anyone else coming?"
Calleigh looked over just in time to see a stampede bear Horatio behind the curtain.
She wasn't sure quite why, but she was determined to find out what, exactly, was going on.
Jack smiled at both the newcomers. "I'm Jack Frost." His personable grin somewhat distracted from the sharp, alert gaze that swept over the CSIs.
"I'm guessing you're Eric - we spoke before, when I sent out the Mayday - and you must be Calleigh." He swept his arm out to indicate the area. "Welcome to the Frost Company."
"Wait - you're the head of the Company?" Eric stared at the man.
"You must know Horatio pretty well." Calleigh added, startled at the flash of jealousy that shot through her.
"Yeah. I've known him since he was an eighteen-year-old kid in New York, raising his brother." He rolled his eyes. "Always though the kid was wasting himself on law enforcement. Damn crime, that was."
Calleigh bridled. "He's the best CSI..." she started, sharply.
The tall man held up his hands in mollification. "I know, I know. Just can't stand the thought of the guy getting hit by some damn stray bullet while ridding the world of evil."
Eric considered, then asked, "What does H do here?"
Jack's eyes turned thoughtful, introspective.
"Hmmm." he commented. "Keep a secret?" He cocked his head questioningly.
"Of course." Calleigh's green eyes were fierce.
Another moment of consideration.
"Okay." Jack replied, decicively. "But if he catches you two watching, I am not involved, get me? I'm kind of attached to my limbs, you see."
"That secret?" Eric asked, a little startled.
"Oh, Hell yeah. That secret."

Ryan surfaced from the microscope as his eyes started to blur.
"Are you all right?" Zach's sensitive eyes had long ago decided that fingerprints were no longer identifiable.
"I think we both need a break."
"Need an extra pair of eyes?" Jason's voice was almost infuriatingly cheerful.
"You're not cleared..." Ryan began.
"Sure I am. Took enough genetics classes to understand what the Hell Ian was talking about. Certified on these things, ya know."
Both CSIs stared at the blonde man.
Jason's reply was to toss what suspiciously like a Miami ID on the table.
Zach picked it up, blinking hard, and managed to make out one detail.
"This looks like it's military."
"I've been around." Jason grinned, evading again.
Ryan took the card, brought it close to his aching eyes, and looked back at Jason.
"This was printed yesterday."
"Yup. All offical-like."
The two CSIs looked at each other,
Ryan's reply was as stern as a man running on coffee and no sleep could be. "One of us is watching you, at all times."
Jason grinned evilly. "As long as I'm doin' CSIy things. Think ya can keep up?" The blonde man's voice was all innocence.
"Shut up and start with this print." Ryan snorted, passing the other man the card.

Jack led the two CSIs around to the back of a stage, making sure everyone was positioned out of sight.
Music shuddered in the air, speaking in tones that described cold and fear and darkness, of loss and unknown lurkers, of sleep darkened by something sharply dangerous and frightening, something unseen.
The children were sitting in different places on the stage, all eyes fixed on the figure there, moving in sharp, harsh movements, telling an all-too-comprehensible tale of nightmares.
There was a sense of something pressing down, pulling under, torn and violent and merciless.
Then it changed, slowly, as if something bright was weaving itself in. Suturing the tears, undermining the fear, challenging the dark presence with fluid movement and decisive courage.
It was real, not a dance form defined and practiced and repeated.
It was - alive.
Vivid.
Anyone could understand it, feel moments through it that touched their lives, unfolded in their minds.
Many of the children had tears streaming down their cheeks, but these were tears of release, of freedom from the shadows that stalked the hidden places of the darkest of dreams.
Calleigh felt tears sliding from her eyes as the dance and the music soothed a place deep in her soul.
Eric's eyes were bright, in danger of welling over.
The dancer flowed into ending their movements, leaving a sense of peace replacing the fear, of calm overshadowing the need to flee.
Calleigh's eyes focused on the figure as it came to a halt.
Oh my God. Calleigh's brain almost locked up, aware that Eric was reacting the same way.
Graceful, elegant, controlled, and calm.
A lithe build, taut muscle hidden under a short-sleeved shirt.
Hair the color of flame.
Horatio.

French

Coucher de Soleil - Sunset
Horatio, mon ami! Il a été trop long! - Horatio, my friend! It has been too long!
Tu es magnifique! - You look wonderful!
Ma femme doit vous voir, elle sera ravie! - My wife must see you, she will be delighted!
S'il vous plaît me présenter à cette belle dame. - Please introduce me to this beautiful lady.
Vous êtes un homme chanceux, monsieur! - You are a lucky man, sir!
Que je suis, Henri. - That I am, Henri.
Merci, Henri. Comment va ta mère? - Thank you, Henri. How is your mother?.
Elle sera mieux bientôt, grâce à vous. - She will be better soon, thanks to you.
Le plaisir était pour moi. - It was my pleasure.
Je vous ferai un menu, même si nous savons tous les deux que vous ne avez pas besoin. - I will bring you a menu, even though we both know you do not need one.
Merci, Henri. Et s'il vous plaît. Anglais. - Thank you, Henri. And please. English.
Pour l'amour, l'avenir, et à tous les oppertunites devant nous. - To love, the future, and to all the oppertunites before us.
Absolument pas, jeune homme! Aller avec votre belle dame, mon ami, et de revenir bientôt! - Absolutely not, young man! Go along with your lovely lady, my friend, and come back soon!

Haitian Creole

fè tèt di ti gason - stubborn boy
petit morveux - little brat

Song Quotes

The songs Jason sings are "You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet", by Bachman-Turner Overdrive, "Boom Boom", by Big Head Todd and the Monsters, and "Changes", by Yes.

Quotes

"Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed." - Irene Peter