What He Lacked, a csi: miami fanfic

Disclaimer: CSI: Miami does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I can't help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: This is for b8kworm. Mr. Hathaway, gratitude is yours for forcing me to realize this skill. Thanks to Ash and Lauri for the storyline read through and encouragement. Big hurrahs for Cherry! Thanks for being patient.

Archives: My site. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Horatio/Calleigh

Spoilers: Minor from "Golden Parachute" to "Kill Zone".

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Title: What He Lacked

Author: Laeta
E-mail: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

They worked so nicely together. That was the first thing he noticed. Throughout the years, he picked up on other nuances. He found he always sought her opinion on things he discovered during cases rather than merely hinting something for the others to work on. Her expertise surpassed his on occasion; he knew he could rely on her. Nowadays, he never had to specify a job on any case; he needed only to ask and she would deliver.

She could be as focused as him while she worked herself to the bone and simply forget the hours flying by. He did that on occasion, too. Off the top of his head, he could recall at least one incident where she slept overnight in the lab. Later, he wondered why no one woke her and sent her home. Then, with a grin, he recalled that her intensity and forensic interest intimidated almost everybody around her.

However, he could not fault her on that since she found ways to enjoy herself on cases. Something, anything, and/or everything would peak her interest and he could swear that she was enjoying herself. Perhaps that was her way of humanizing their cases and the victims involved. Maybe he would never know the truth, since this made him realize how little he actually knew about her.

Of course he knew where she lived, common knowledge. All of them spent innumerable hours in each other's places at various points in the past. He knew her favorite color; everyday, it was a game for him to find the bit of that color on her physical person. The most unusual things that contained it, to date, were a leather/pleather/plastic belt and a pair of earrings. It was always tastefully done; countless times he had seen men fall and fawn over her. She could charm any man to do anything, himself included.

He saw firsthand how generous she was with her abilities. Eventually, he learned to not even bother to question the hows and whys. He would merely nod and accept the evidence. Although, he could never avoid those minute twinges in his gut when she would turn the sugar sweetness on. When he was alone, far away from her stimulating presence, he could admit to jealousy and envy. He wanted to be that other man, the one on the receiving end of her radiating beauty. Always, he would desperately try to assuage his heart by reminding himself that he was assured to see her the following day. Those other men would never; this barely helped.

He knew only the scent of her perfume and the underlying aroma of vanilla that enveloped her daily. There were ways to discover the brand names of each; he was a forensic scientist, after all. He could not bring himself to do any. Instead, he contented himself with noticing an intimate detail of her.

What he did not know was anything about her past, none of the experiences that formed the amazing woman today. He wondered why she chose the field of forensics and why she was here in Miami. They did not have the best lab since the top honors belonged to the FBI and Las Vegas. There were only a handful of people, nationwide, with her level of expertise in ballistics. When the NTSB were in town on the plane crash, the team had been more than eager to meet her. Her reputation, alone, guaranteed any position in any lab on any team in any city across the nation. Why she remained rooted in Miami was a mystery beyond his ability to solve.

So when he compared the things he knew about her and all the things he did not know, he found a fairly pathetic result. He also discovered he wanted to know more. Questions like what was her favorite meal, why pink was really her favorite color, why her favorite time of day was the morning, and why guns and ballistics made her day plagued him. He could not hide the fact there were also a few other things that were uncharted territory. For now, he could be satisfied with not knowing those few other things.

They were not friends since friends knew things about each other. Acquaintances also did not describe their unique relationship. Colleagues seemed too cold and did not come close to covering the protective feeling he had toward her. So he could admit that; he honestly thought he lacked that ability.

The lateness of the hour forced him to admit another fact. He would never know if he would ever have the courage to put a voice to his feelings. That would require naming them and he truly lacked the conviction and he knew why. There was something about the act of admitting his feelings that terrified him. It was simply the necessary need for something - in this case, someone - that caused him to hesitate. As a CSI, the families of victims relied on him for the truth and closure; it all added to be barely a burden. Now faced with the reality of his feelings, the burden of needing her was starting to overwhelm. It was difficult to be in the position of needing another's strength just to live through the day.

Maybe it was the ultimate show of no control. He simply grew accustomed to seeing her everyday while occupying his nights with the few things he knew about her. During that time, he never convinced himself to be attracted to her. They joked about it freely and that soothed him a little, gave back some of the lost control. She was always free with her compliments, rarely was there an incident where she hid her true feelings.

That was a reason why he never felt compelled to seek her companionship; they were more different than day and night, if that was at all possible. She had all the glory of light and Apollo kissed her skin and hair golden. Meanwhile, he existed under Artemis's tutelage and was blessed with a certain level of comfort in dark and blackness.

Stretching the allusion slightly, he thought of the Asian concept of yin and yang - that is, opposites attract. Hope crawled in as he contemplated the idea. Indeed, he and she were polar opposites: light and dark, woman and man, morning and night. To be complete, one needed the other for balance and, in the end, happiness. However, there were certain problems with the duality. Yin is female and associated with the dark; yang is male and associated with the light. This did not fit them correctly.

So he channeled his thoughts to another avenue: trusting his life in her hands. With the walkie-talkie as his only lifeline, he silently hoped that they were right. He hoped that the evidence would not fail them in this one instance and the sniper was on the roof overlooking the public square. At that moment with his life looming before him, he found himself the closest he could to come to finding the ability he lacked. He admitted needing her.

Then her voice could be heard over his lifeline; they were right. Even as relief flooded through him, he worried about his admission. All for nought. Her easy smile told him she knew but asked for time. Accepting her decision to ignore, he caught himself in a web of hope and hid his heart.

Perhaps enough time would pass and fate would force his hand. Until then, he would remain alone and aloof while she, with her smiles and humor, would be surrounded by warmth.