Disclaimer: CSI: Miami does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence and intrigue that I cannot 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 Mr. Hathaway, b8kworm, and SunMee. Let me share something: when I become bored, I tend to write. When I go far beyond boredom that I can't write, I warn myself on AIM. Why do I share this? Because I want Calleigh's fantasy. You'll see. Oh, and this is for the chat loonies, I honestly don't know what happened. This one ran away from me. Feels like I'm always saying that. Oops. :D Thanks, Marianne, for the read through.
Summary: It was a never ending story - victim, case, evidence, suspect, trial, funeral. The following morning, there was another victim, but caring so much did not matter anymore. Calleigh was no longer afraid for sudden apathy; she had Horatio to remind her why it was important to care.
Rating: PG
Archive(s): Evidence of Things Unseen, Lonely Road, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.
Pairing(s): H/C
Spoiler(s): Season 2 --- specifically: Death Grip, Grand Prix, and definitely a few others.
***** ***** *****Title: Between Cases
Author: Laeta
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com
Horatio: "... actually, I have other plans."
Hayley: "A woman?"
Horatio: "A funeral."
Horatio walked away from the cold-hearted blonde, a bitter taste in his mouth. She obviously cared, in her own way, and he did not want to know why she had schooled herself to be so hard.
His ride waited for him; the engine idling soundlessly beside the hum of the race track. Taking a moment to watch the frenzied activity, to remind himself that life always moved on, he drove to the funeral.
It was Calleigh who made it remarkable for him. She stood off to the side, impassively watching an otherwise routine event. Horatio chose not to examine why he was concerned about the lack of emotion across this particular blonde's facial features.
She caught his eye across the semicircle of those gathered when he deliberately shifted his stance. A tilt of his head was all he needed to ask her to wait for him.
Like a frequently rehearsed act, Horatio expressed the appropriate amount of condolences for a near stranger's relatives. He spotted her the moment he turned away from the grieving family. She looked at another tombstone, new by its stark edges. "Conseula Valdes" read the engraving, the young victim of a recently closed case.
He walked towards her, stopped close enough that she could have elbowed him in the abdomen if she willed it. Waited another minute and placed his hands on his hips, open to wherever the conversation headed. He followed her gaze, still trained on the stone carved words, read them himself.
"Want to tell me what's wrong?"
She shook her head once, almost annoyingly at herself.
"Why do we care so much? Why do we let ourselves?" she asked, angrily. "Every case, we let ourselves care too much and it always ends with another funeral."
"I don't believe there's such a thing as caring too much."
"Maybe for you, but I'm afraid -" She trailed off.
"Calleigh?"
She looked at him, a simple turn of her head over a shoulder. The image imprinted itself in his mind on its own accord. The thought that she ought to be smiling, not frowning, plagued him.
When Calleigh spoke again, it was directed to the tombstone.
"I'm afraid that, someday, I'll stop caring. That none of this will matter anymore."
"Why? You're the best there is."
She sighed. "I suppose because it feels like we're alone in caring, for the victims, for justice. It's just you, me, the rest of the team against a world of apathy. It shouldn't be that way."
Horatio drew in a breath, inflicting pain on himself as he said, "So, Paolo didn't work out after all?"
She shook her head again, same as before - annoyingly.
"May I ask why not?"
"Because I cared; he didn't. He wasn't enough to -" She stopped herself, moving to turn away from Horatio and the grave.
He stopped her with a hand on her elbow. His hand slid along her inner forearm; her hand already tucked at his elbow before she assimilated what he did.
"Take a walk with me," he persuaded her, needlessly.
She followed, too surprised by jealousy for her own hand where it was imprisoned against Horatio's body. He led the way, walking aimlessly in the direction Calleigh first started. Eventually, a street found them and they passed a number of residential and quaint commercial zones.
"Horatio, where are we going?"
"I want to remind you - Here it is."
He directed her into a small flower shop where the florist greeted Horatio by name and with a smile. Returning the warmth of the welcome, he led Calleigh to a row of flowers. With his left hand keeping a strong hold on Calleigh, his right reached for a bright, cheerful daffodil. His eyes were unreadable to her as he drew it towards her face. He compared the two beautiful creations of nature.
While shaking his head, he pronounced, "No, you do it shame, but it'll have to do."
Calleigh was beguiled more by his smile than his words. She smiled against her better judgment, and the glow unique to her returned.
"Charlie," he called to the florist without ever taking his eyes off the blonde woman on his arm. "I'm going to take this one. Bill me?"
Charlie glanced over at the couple and rolled his eyes at Horatio's back.
"The next time you say that, man," he retorted, "I'm sending you a dozen roses at the lab. Get out of here, and take both blondes with you." He winked at Calleigh whose smile widened.
She let him direct her back to the street, not bothering to wonder why or how Horatio was on such friendly terms with the florist. Some mysteries of life deserve to stay undiscovered.
She accepted the proffered flower and fingered the stem gently. The flower smelled as fantastic as Horatio's cologne; it enlivened all her senses. He enchanted her and she could see the old fantasy come alive so clearly.
For so many nights, she had convinced herself that Horatio was replaceable; she tried Hagen, she tried Paolo. Neither could ever live up to the expectation that was Horatio. He epitomized the classic gentleman - chivalrous, romantic, but he was also a modern man. She always added "modern man" because she wanted his respect as a woman second, a dedicated CSI first.
As they wandered back towards the cemetery, arm in arm, she imagined herself in a long, flowing dress designed to tickle Horatio's fancy, and he was donned in a dark suit - she gave the color preference to him. Her heels would bring her to the exact height for her to lean her chin on his shoulder. They would be off to some destination - dinner? A gala? Or, maybe, on their way home; it did not matter.
Maybe, she would whisper something in his ear, and he would laugh - the kind that dug deep into her body, crawled down her spine, and made her delirious just by the thinking of it. He would keep her warm during the evening, forbidding the nonexistent cold of Miami's nights from giving her shivers not caused by him.
Horatio pulled her out of that fantasy when he released his hold on her arm; they were back at the cemetery already? She noticed they were standing beside her car, and she realized she did not thank him.
A quick press to the car alarm button shut off the security system and Horatio reached before she could to open the door. She remained there, next to the car, not moving to start it, and she looked at him.
"Thank you." She tried to give as much inflection as she could, but she knew it would be useless. So she had to add, "For the flower." She brought it up to her nose again. "For taking the time, I know you're busy and probably want to -"
This time, he cut her off. That smile disarmed her - again - as he angled his head.
"My book's open for you anytime, Calleigh. Anytime."
She never loved him more than she did at that moment. She knew this was the end of the line for her; there would be no other for her except Horatio Caine. Somehow, he knew that all she needed was a small change, and he gave her that along with so much more.
The thought sobered her.
"Do you mean that?"
She did not realize that he had been looking straight at her the entire time until he let his eyes fall away.
"I do. Everybody deserves to know at least one person cares. Let me be that somebody for you." He preempted her offer of reciprocation by using the hand that held the flower to press the flora against her lips. It effectively allowed silence's entry, which only Horatio's words could fill. "Don't worry about me. Take care of yourself."
Defeated in this battle, Calleigh vowed to win the war. She would find a way to show Horatio that she would care for him, too. If only he would let her.
She allowed him to close the car door after she slid onto the cool seat and started the engine. Lowering the window to say one last thing to him, she wondered if it was a wise action.
She said it anyway: "It really is nice to know somebody cares."
They did not speak about that afternoon until after the next case.
It was a never ending story - victim, case, evidence, suspect, trial, funeral. The following morning, there was another victim, but caring so much did not matter anymore. Calleigh was no longer afraid for sudden apathy; she had Horatio to remind her why it was important to care.
He cornered her in the layout room one morning just as she was packing the evidence away for the lawyers. She was not threatened in the least by the way he blocked the doorway or his crossed arms, which warned that the conversation would be lengthy if Horatio did not hear what he wanted.
"Hey."
She smiled, but the emotion was too tired to reach her eyes. He picked up on it immediately.
"You hanging in there okay?"
She nodded, this time managing to show her happiness at this case's close.
"Yeah, I am." She paused, needing to gather herself before she confessed. "You know, just the knowing makes all the difference."
"I believe the truth has power."
"Believe me, it's infectious." He laughed with her. "So, what can I do for you?"
Horatio shifted, uncrossing his arms; the action mirroring the openness of his query.
"I was hoping that I could interest you in a ride."
There was more to the request, but Calleigh played along innocently.
"You're going to the funeral, too?"
"I care, too."
So, she asked the question burning on her mind since the Petrie case. "Do you ever worry about caring too much?"
He walked further into the room, leaning against the wall so Calleigh could continue to clean the room without obstruction.
"I did once. But, I have discovered there are ways to keep caring, things that replenish me whenever it got to that point."
"Like what?"
"Love's one of them."
Calleigh stopped everything - cleaning, moving, thinking, and even breathing. She gaped at him, unable to put a reason behind the comment.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand that, Horatio." She breathed the words out on an exclamation.
He left his spot along the wall and walked to her, invaded her personal space. Intense eyes revealed everything to her.
"I came close to it, that wall of no longer caring. Of doing this job for the sake of this career at the close of Conseula's case. A reporter walked up to me after her funeral; instead of giving him a statement, I gave him names."
Calleigh thought back to the time immediately succeeding that particular case. She recalled the article from a reporter on it.
"I remember. You made his career with that story. He's known as the humanitarian writer now, has an endless queue of stories."
"He's the one."
"Then what?"
For a moment, she thought he was not going to answer. When it came, his voice was so low, his lips so close to her ear that she grabbed the lapels of his jacket for support. She bowed her head into his chest.
"I spent the whole night outside your house." He remembered, as he had gazed upon the darkened windows of her house that he wanted in from the night. He never before felt that desire.
"I wasn't home for most of the night," she said, voice muffled, for a lack of anything else to say.
"I know."
She glanced up, seeing how close they were. All either had to do was a small tilt of the head and they would change everything. Whoever had the strength to do it built the layers of tension between them.
"I just have one question for you, Calleigh."
Calleigh merely looked into his eyes.
"Will I be enough for you?"
She laughed, bowing her body into his. Giddy, she replied, "They - John and Paolo - weren't enough because they weren't you."
In the end, Calleigh was the braver of the two, but it was Horatio who swept her along for the ride. With her hand tucked confidently on his elbow, he escorted her to the funeral and then, to lunch. After that, she gave him a standing invitation to come in from the night.
When they separated after lunch to continue work, he promised her that he would take her up on the invitation. He wanted in, he always had.
© RK 15.Nov.2003