A/N: I don't own CSI or its characters and the only people I've made up for this are the vics (Kasey Kinsey and William Lucas), the guy who found one of the vics (Ted Samson), and the flirty annoying lab tech (Abbie Talbot). And Miki the cat. And the people in chapter one Greg said "hi" to. There. My first real disclaimer. Tempo primo means "original tempo". If you recall, the first chapter's title was adagio, a slow tempo. Tempo is speed of the music, by the way.

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Last Voice: A Concerto
7: Tempo Primo

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I walked wearily and warily from my car to my building. The sun was coming up.

Bedtime for me.

I looked around, increasing my pace.

It was strange. Less than twelve hours ago, I had sauntered in the opposite direction, completely relaxed. After all, it wasn't like I lived in a bad part of the city.

All the parts were bad.

And now I had seen first hand what happened in the shifting shadows.

I opened the door and climbed the stairs, feeling my consciousness already going into coma.

Next thing I knew, I was at my door. I hadn't even gotten my key out, I was so tired.

Coffee was wearing off.

I unlocked my door, making a mental note to buy a deadbolt for it sometime tomorrow.

I remembered my earlier "mental note", about the spider guts on my wall.

Decided I didn't care.

I relocked the door once I was inside. Kicked off my shoes, stumbled across the carpet and collapsed face first onto my bed.

It had been a long day. Or night, however you wanted to say it.

I felt a small vibration in the bed springs.

A light tap on my cheek – the familiar sensation of a cat paw.

"Hi, Miki," I said, reaching up and scratching her ears without opening my eyes.

"Mee?"

"Yeah, it wasn't much fun at all. I got my first homicide."

"Rroow."

"Yeah. It wasn't pretty. I've been shoving it to the back of my mind all day."

Or night. Whatever.

Miki started to purr. I took her furry cat body into a hug and hid my face in her fur.

"It made me sick. Literally. The vic had been there for a couple days. Just lying in an alley. Remind me never to be murdered, okay?"

Miki just kept purring.

"She was twenty-seven. I'm only twenty-eight. She didn't even live as long as I have. And the case is linked with another murder – another beating – with some DNA from what we think might be the murderer."

Miki made a tiny squeak in her throat.

I groaned as I rolled over, pulling Miki with me. She took up residence on my chest, kneading the collar of my shirt.

"I've been talking to the others about certain things. I guess I never realized that they had issues, too."

Miki licked my chin. I looked at her, into her blue feline eyes. She looked back intellectually.

"I know. I've gotta go get clean."

"Mrr…"

"And feed you."

She used me as a springboard to hop off the bed and trot toward the kitchen.

The kitchen that looked almost identical to Kasey Kinsey's.

I shook it off.

I set out Miki's dish again. With the medication. I sighed and dumped three different pills into my hand.

"You know, Mik, sometimes I really with I could drink."

She stopped crunching her dinner (or breakfast) and looked up at me.

"Yeah, I know. You probably wish the same thing sometimes."

The cat rubbed her cheek against my ankle. Like I've said, I'm convinced she understands me.

I poured a glass of tap water and used it to take the pills.

"I've told you before: No pity parties."

Miki gave me her cat version of a smile and padded back to her bowl.

I sat on the stool by my counter.

"I can handle it though, Mik. Don't think I can't."

She didn't look up. Didn't even stop eating. But I understood, loud and clear.

I know.

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A/N: Look at this – it's so short! Barely 700 words! Sheesh! And no story development. Just angst. Hmph. Oh well. And a cute kitty.