Mundane, 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: For b8kworm, Mr. Hathaway. For SunMee, thanks for fueling the visual obsession. For Andrea, thanks for tolerating me and my eccentricities. For kdeb, thank you for being there when I needed somebody. For Marianne, for everything and anything. Apologies that no windbreakers made an appearance. To the beta gurus, you rock my world. :D And finally, I must mention Sanja Bahun's Intro to Short Fiction class, which taught me the word that inspired the entire story.

Summary: Yes, perhaps it was such a quotidian day, but every moment was precious magic to them.

Rating: PG

Archives: Evidence of Things Unseen, Lonely Road, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): H/C friendship.

Spoiler(s): Nope, none. Well, there is a teeny reference to another fic ---

***** ***** *****

Title: Mundane

Author: Laeta
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

Dawn was an interesting time to be awake: on one side, distant stars persisted to twinkle merrily; on the other, Earth's closest star hovered to cast its brilliance. Today, there was nary an obstruction to cast shadows - the sky was cloudless and a vivid reflection of vast oceans due to the low humidity. A breeze trekked towards the city, leaving its watery home for a remarkable journey of climatic regions.

In Miami, it met the stagnant hum of air conditioners. Everywhere the breeze sailed by, left and right, windows were blocked to Nature's air. So it sulked onward, skirting downtown completely, to find a well-kept residential neighborhood. Here, air conditioners were more sporadic - a house on this corner, on that block. Windows were wide open to catch Night's coolness before the Sun's luminosity brought its characteristic heat.

One house, in particular, attracted attention. Maybe it was the atypical quiet of it, or the pair of vehicles in its driveway, or perhaps the dreams of its occupants, one may never know. Regardless, the breeze flew through an open bedroom window and jumped immediately out another, startled completely by the onset of an alarm clock.

The house's owner did nothing about the rude device, which played a news station happily to itself. She sank deeper into her pillow and tucked her coverlet more securely around her shoulder. On the other hand, her companion shot a chilled arm into the still awakening morning and managed to shut it off, all while still half asleep. The arm dropped and slipped back beneath the covers to secure another hold on her. The rest of his body soon followed.

Consciousness was slow on its arrival this particular morning for her - a result from the combined effects of a horrendous week and the man with her in bed. Contrarily, he was wide awake, having never attained the ability to sleep in on his mornings. Nowadays, however, he had a far different reason to forgo rest.

Comfortably pressed and spooned around her body, he took a moment to allow gratitude to sink in - appreciation and thanks, too. Life became a one-hundred degree difference when the rose hued glasses of love exist.

So he drew even closer and discovered the temptation of her bare neck was deliciously too much. He gave in gracefully and sent shivers down her spine as he nuzzled lazily. She surrendered a sigh.

Voice, gruff and husky from the night's respite, he spoke the morning's greeting into her ear. Then, "I dreamed of you last night."

Rather than answer, she reached for his hand and hugged it, nestling it comfortably against her upper body. This managed to bring him even closer. He drew his leg over her body and she felt indisputable proof of his statement.

"Tell me about it."

"I don't remember all that much; I just know it left me wondering about us. Marveling at us."

"Horatio, you promised. Straight-forward conversations until after breakfast has kicked in."

He chuckled and brushed his lips against her neck. "That's just it, Sweetheart. You and I are practically opposites - you're a morning person, I'm night - and we're still here together."

"They do say opposites attract."

"True, but are we truly opposites?"

"Horatio -"

"I know, I know."

He felt the change in Calleigh's breathing as she drifted off into a light doze. He lay there, wrapped around her as a second blanket and contemplated his two choices. One, gently wake her and seduce her willingly into making love; two, ignore the want to let it build.

In some ways, he was reminded of his pre-Calleigh state, where every nuance was restrained. Everything he did was focused completely on not giving any hint of his attraction to her that everything he did showed it. Even now, he never took a single moment with her for granted.

The exhaustion from the past week kept them separate; they worked independent cases only to fall immediately asleep as soon as they came home, their sanctuary. Last night, he had stayed extra late, using reserves of energy to complete any outstanding administrative paperwork; he had standing plans for the weekend. As far as he was concerned, nothing - if he could help it - would prevent his being home for the weekend.

And it always began so quietly. He cherished the days where he awoke slowly, warm from shared body heat. His heart, that is Calleigh, loved the mornings but he knew why she put off the day. She, too, sometimes doubted that the intimate side of their relationship was real. In dreams, the imagination was real.

So, he chose the second option; he always did. Besides, who did not like a foreplay that lasted all day? He was a bomb expert after all; he loved explosions.

He rose out of bed, air warming in the half hour since sunrise. Coffee brewing, he skimmed the paper's headlines. He knew that if he read any in depth, he would be tempted to go into work and he refused to let his mind win. Pouring two cups of coffee, one black and one with milk and sugar, he drifted back into the bedroom.

He knew she was awake; she could never stay asleep very long if he was not there beside her. Sitting on the floor next to her, he held out her coffee cup. They listened to the quiet crash of water on the rocks and sand, absorbed the sunlight through the pores of their skin, felt the simple nearness of the other.

Completely awake now, Calleigh used Horatio's body to draw herself out of the bed. Of course, she actually did not need the help, but touch always had been such an important sense for her. She drew her hand across broad shoulders, left to right, where his hand snagged hers and pulled her down to his level. Calleigh crouched behind him, knees bent on either side of his back, free hand running up his neck into his hair; the caught one disentangled itself and snuck beneath the front of his shirt.

She loved all aspects of Horatio - physical and not; her favorite though was the abdominal muscles, toned and currently flexing from her caress, that continually had her attention. Hidden away beneath silken shirts by day, they were kept in shape by furious visits to the gym. She no longer went with him, preferring to go alone, after the first few bouts where distractions were found in every corner of the room.

"You didn't wake me." Her one hand drifted lower, just teasing along the waistband of his pants. Neither disappointment nor reproach colored her words, it was a mere statement. Yet, she tempered her words by slowly moving her other hand through his hair.

"Hmm." Reflexively, he shifted toward that particular hand and the chains to his self-control bucked. The coils of passion they restrained tightened measurably.

Grinning, Calleigh knew he was beyond distracted at the moment.

He reluctantly let her go to shower and gathered the cups, retreating back into the kitchen. It was time for breakfast.

Days like today, he always had the job of cooking and cleaning since Calleigh found laundry oddly relaxing. Never one to forget something that pleased Calleigh, he did not hinder her. She had confided once that she loved the feel of sun-dried laundry on her skin; it reminded her of happier days in her youth. So, he had rigged a laundry line in her backyard; the memory of her smile from that day still heated his blood.

He walked into the bedroom and came upon a mess: blankets and pillows were tossed haphazardly on the floor. Immediately, he knew why. To an outsider, it would appear like the morning after of a particularly intense session of making love, which was exactly the reason Calleigh did not make the bed when she stripped it. Horatio felt the coils within him tighten a dozen more notches.

"Little imp," he muttered fondly.

Laughter floated toward him from the doorway. There she was, eyes glittering in challenge. Again, he had two choices, those same two choices. Someday, he knew Calleigh would be the death of him, but right now, he would not give. Not yet. There was time later. Pinching together what remained of his self-control, he silently made the bed knowing her gaze followed his every move.

He was vacuuming when she moved out of doors to hang a week's worth of laundry. There was something about the feel of freshly vacuumed carpet underneath bare feet that always comforted him. The sensation grounded him, acted like his reward for cleaning the hardwood and linoleum that floored most of her home. Then, it was back into the kitchen for him.

He had purchased cold cuts the night before as he drove here. Now, he piled them onto bread, making them a light lunch. Into Tupperware, he scooped leftover pasta salad, searched the refrigerator for packaged dressing, and squeezed oranges into juice. Glancing at the clock, it was barely ten o'clock; they would have a full afternoon to enjoy themselves. Good.

He took time to change from his night clothes and wore khaki pants and a button down linen shirt that would be perfect for later. Out on the patio, the breeze easily cooled his skin as his body inched gradually tighter while he watched Calleigh finish hanging the laundry. Basket empty, pins fastened tightly against the light wind, she floated up the steps to him.

They were all set now for their afternoon.

There was no difference to Miami on weekends or weekdays, and they caught the tail of traffic as they drove towards the marina. Calleigh slung a backpack onto her shoulder and Horatio hefted their lunch. To the outside world, they simply appeared to be a couple, going off for an afternoon of sun, sea, and privacy.

Dasyatidae, sleek and smooth like the man who owned it, bobbed gently with the waves. When they approached it, it rose and fell a bit sharply, almost eagerly, as though it anticipated these outings.

Within minutes, all three unmoored and aimed for the open ocean.

He cut the throttle and let Dasyatidae drift and settle before he dropped anchor. Calleigh already had a fishing rod baited and ready to be cast. She was settled into a comfortable chair on the deck, book open. He took a moment to look, ceasing the dynamic pace of his life into a gentle calm. There would be no storm brewing this afternoon.

Securing the fishing rod into its holder, he went below to retrieve a bottle of sunblock. The sea magnifies the sun's rays about five times than on land; he and Calleigh had to take certain precautions. He grinned, but who said it was not worth the effort?

For some reason, Horatio loved to torture himself. Rather than handing the bottle to his companion, he had to massage the lotion on exposed skin himself. So stated, he started with her feet and used gentle, firm strokes to persuade the skin to take in the colloid. Calleigh was putty in his hands. By the time he finished, she leaned fully against his body; soon, he would not be able to control his actions.

Until then, there was lunch and the afternoon to peacefully wile away.

The sun lulled him to sleep some time after lunch, and it was Calleigh's turn to watch him. It was so rare for him to let go and paradoxically, he constantly did when it was just her. The battle scars that lined his cherished face smoothed away; she surmised his dream must be especially enjoyable. She had to admit that she could spend hours watching him sleep, but today, she was drowsy herself. After all, the work week had been grueling.

Before she surrendered to sleep, she lifted the fishing rod out of the water; it had only been there for show anyway. They never used real bait. The plastic worms did their job.

Knowing that Horatio would be alert and awake within seconds if anything was wrong, she slipped into his arms and closed her eyes.

It was late afternoon when she opened her eyes. The first sight to greet her was the contented expression on Horatio's face, lit by the orange light of the near setting sun. She stretched luxuriously and knew without having to look that it was almost time.

He held his hand out to her and asked formally, "May I have this dance?"

Calleigh's eyes and smile sparkled with the merriment. "What music do we have for it, Handsome?"

For years, she had harbored the instinct that Horatio was really a romantic at heart; she had proof now.

"The music of the sea." He pulled her close. "Listen."

And they swayed as the boat rocked to the beat of the water.

The return to the marina was idyllic under the fully setting sun. They picked up dinner on the way back home, where Calleigh remained outside to bring in the laundry. Folding as she went along, all that left was to put them away. Meanwhile, Horatio lit the citronella candles, more for light than mood since the patio faced east. Continuing the trend of the day, he had the food waiting when Calleigh returned to the house.

There was an unmistakable energy encapsulating Horatio as they dined. And still, he compromised for time. They sat on the cushioned swing, gazing out at the restless water, sharing the last of the orange juice when it broke.

Without warning, the coils within Horatio over extended, and Calleigh laughed as he carried her into the bedroom.

Yes, perhaps it was such a quotidian day, but every moment was precious magic to them.