See Chapter 1 for disclaimers, etc. Please forgive any typos, as this was
typed down at warp speed after I got off work and hasn't been proofread.
My whole week has turned upside down since noon today and developed all
sorts of complications of its own, the two biggest involving the death of a
family friend today on one hand (not unexpected; she's been dragging on for
months and just suffering, so I'm glad for her, actually) and my
grandfather in the nursing home on the other, with all sorts of bonus
travel and still seeing to the animals complications. I'll still try for
February 27th to finish Complications, but I can almost guarantee nothing
more for the rest of this week.
***
"In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger: Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood."
William Shakespeare, Henry V
***
The days melted together into one conglomerate of frustration. Speed sat in front of the CSI computer, tracking down another possibility for a lead that he suddenly knew would disintegrate into ashes like all of their other leads had. He wasn't even sure what day this was anymore. Life had condensed to this computer screen in front of him, punctuated by Alexx making them eat or leave to sleep for a few hours. There had been a few other punctuations, too, moments when they briefly thought they had the answer and it once again fell apart just as they were about to get their hands on it.
They had planted a tiny camera in Otis' cell hoping to catch the next tape delivery, and it worked perfectly. So the whole team had barreled over to the prison to question a security guard caught on tape. He was cooperative enough, once threatened by his supervisor, but he knew nothing. He had gambling debts. He had been approached through the mail offering him $500 per tape to deliver them under the pillow in that cell. The tapes and the $500 were mailed to his house. He had never talked to anyone, never knew what was on the tapes, had no more info. The CSIs had retrieved his latest envelope from his trash, only to discover that it had been mailed at a main Post Office in Miami, like thousands of other pieces of mail that day. A second envelope recovered had been mailed from another location entirely, just as anonymously. No trace that helped them was on the envelopes or the money. They did recover Otis' fingerprints on the money. So they now knew that Otis was behind this, which they had known anyway. Dead end.
The only other possibility was processing Rodriguez's life. His house had yielded drugs and pornography, but the CSIs didn't care about either just then. No clue to Otis' whereabouts. Processing his car had given them nothing. They had obtained credit card records, phone records, and bank account records on Rodriguez, as well as running his name through every database they could think of looking for any location, any remote and quiet location, that he had any connection to. He had kidnapped the family before Otis had gotten out, so he had almost certainly been the one to set up the hiding place where the hostages were held. Three times, Speed and Eric had thought that they had it and gone bolting off like the cavalry with Adele and reinforcements to some remote spot. Three times, they had been disappointed.
So now, Speed sat in front of the computer again, chasing another ghost lead. This is pointless, a voice in his mind told him. The guy probably paid in cash and used an assumed name. You won't find it through Visa. The trouble was, there was nothing else left to try. Speed wasn't working any less diligently on the case, but that nagging voice was getting to him, whispering that this would all be futile, just like so many things in his life had been. He felt guilty for the thoughts, even though he hadn't let them affect his work. It was like he was letting Horatio and Calleigh down. He suddenly wished that he could be the prisoner and them outside looking for him, not only for their sake but to increase the chances that Otis would be found and taken down, his power to hurt taken away permanently. Speed might try to imitate Horatio's example, but he knew he could never match it. Horatio was ahead of him in so many ways. The best chance of Otis being brought to justice would be if Horatio had been here at CSI running the search.
He wished it could happen. He knew it couldn't happen. He felt guilty for getting discouraged about the case. And all the while, his fingers kept punching in the keys, tracking another ghost lead through the databases.
***
Horatio woke up abruptly, gasping for air, feeling momentarily like he could not breathe. The feeling passed, but his ears were ringing, and his heart felt like it was turning somersaults in his chest. He lay quietly, as still as he could, breathing deeply and evenly. Who ever heard of feeling dizzy while you were lying down? Gradually, the shaky feeling subsided, and the room steadied around him. He realized suddenly that his clothes were wet, absolutely drenched in sweat. He was starting to shiver now as the wet garments hugged his skin. He had finally managed to get sound asleep, but the waking up was hardly worth it.
He turned his head cautiously, but the dizziness had passed. Calleigh lay beside him, her blonde hair falling halfway across her face. She was absolutely sound asleep, breathing deeply and peacefully, and he was glad for her. She hadn't been sleeping worth anything, either, worrying about him. The past however many days it had been were hardly what the doctor had ordered. She looked tired, and there were shadows under her eyes. Her cuffed hands were clasped protectively across her abdomen in her sleep. He wanted to join his with hers in promise to Rosalind that they would protect her somehow, but he didn't want to wake Calleigh up.
He suddenly realized that he might well wake Calleigh up anyway if he stayed here. He was shivering uncontrollably now. Better get out of these wet clothes and try to warm himself up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed stealthily, trying not to wake her. She was deeply asleep and did not move. Horatio stood on his good leg and bit his lip to avoid crying out as a tidal wave of pain crashed into him. His left toes had barely touched the ground, not taking weight, just aiding balance, but it felt like someone had sharpened the dagger stuck into the bottom of his leg. It hadn't hurt nearly this much to stand earlier. He held the foot entirely off the ground, and that was a little better. He took two hops to the wall and braced himself against it, then worked his way around the room to the pile of clothes. Bending to get fresh clothes made the dizziness return. There was a swirling black whirlpool in the back of his mind. He leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, and reminded himself that if he fell over, he would certainly wake Calleigh. The whirlpool shrank obediently. He turned and worked back around the room as quietly as he could to the bathroom, swinging the door gently shut so the sound of water would not awaken her. She was still sound asleep.
The hot water felt good, and the shiver fits gradually slowed and stopped. He cleaned up as much as he could, trying to warm up at the same time. Just getting the wet clothes off had been a great improvement. He even took time to shave, enjoying the hot water against his skin. He was feeling better by the time he finished. He pulled on fresh clothes but did not really look at his leg or unbandage it. Just bending over enough to pull his pants on made that whirlpool spin faster. He managed to prop himself against the sink enough to get his good leg into the pants without taking weight on the bad one. When he finished dressing, he leaned against the wall for several minutes. The room was pleasantly steamy now, and he felt warmer. Finally, he opened the door gently again. Calleigh was still sound asleep. He worked his way to the bed again and lay down. This was much better. Not nearly as cold now as before. Calleigh made a soft sound and snuggled down against him without waking up, and he pressed against her, being careful not to jolt his leg. Even better. He felt delightfully warm now, almost sleepy. Even the pain had retreated somewhat. He couldn't let himself rest, though, much as he suddenly wanted to. He lay there with his eyes open and thought through their situation.
Something had to be done, and soon. He knew that he needed antibiotics and treatment for his leg, but it was Calleigh who worried him more. He sensed her time approaching, and he vowed fiercely to himself that he would protect her and Rosalind. Otis would never get his daughter. The next time Otis came in here, Horatio would tackle him, would force an opening if he had to. If he died in the attempt, he would at least make sure that he disabled Otis, preferably dragging his enemy down to death along with him. Then Calleigh and Rosalind would be safe, at least. There were no remaining options. The team had not found them, and they could not wait any longer. It was up to him. He remembered Belle King, and an hourglass suddenly appeared, hovering just over him on the bed. He eyed it with mild curiosity, but it seemed somehow natural that it should be there. Maybe it had been there all along, and he just hadn't noticed it until now. The thing that mattered was that the sands in it were running out. He had to act. The trouble was, Otis had not been in the room for several days. They had both lost track of time, but they knew it had been several days. He has to come, Horatio told himself. He has to come to take Rosalind, even if he doesn't come before. And when he comes, I'll be ready.
***
Calleigh woke up slowly, hazily, at first not remembering where she was. She felt weighed down with lassitude. She stretched slightly, and the handcuffs clanked, bringing it all back. She considered closing her eyes and ignoring reality again, to see if she could recapture her pleasant dreams. It was Horatio who decided it for her. They were pressed tightly against each other, and she suddenly realized that he felt even more feverish than he had before. She looked over at him worriedly. He had apparently gotten soundly to sleep himself at last, and she was glad. He'd hardly slept at all since they had been here. He seemed totally out now, though. She reached across and placed her hand on his forehead, trying not to let the handcuffs clank too much. He never stirred. His fever had definitely gone higher.
Calleigh removed her hand and settled back, chewing her lip in worry. They absolutely had to get him to a doctor. He needed some antibiotics, the sooner the better. But what options were there? They could try breaking down the door. She shook her head, picturing it. Him fighting an infection and on one leg and her nine months pregnant. The door would probably laugh at them, if it noticed at all. Waiting for the team wasn't getting them anywhere, apparently. The only other option was tackling Otis, but she couldn't tackle Otis herself without hurting her daughter. Horatio could hardly stand, let alone fight, and his capabilities were decreasing by the hour. God, she prayed, help us. Something has to change.
Something did change, but it hardly seemed an answer to prayer just then. Every muscle across her abdomen tightened up suddenly, and she recognized it as a contraction. Not yet, she whispered. Please, Rosalind, not yet. This world isn't safe to be born into right now. It seemed sharper and longer than it should have been for an early one. Calleigh had broken out into a sweat, and she clutched Horatio's hand tightly, unable to stop herself. He shifted slowly, then opened his eyes, then opened them wider. "Cal, is it. . ."
The spasm passed. "It's a contraction," she confirmed. "First one, but it sure was a strong one."
"She can't be born yet." His voice was taut with worry.
"I know. Not now."
Their eyes met each other with frantic concern. They lay there in silence. The time for words had passed. Horatio saw the hourglass appear over the bed again, vivid enough to touch if he tried, but he didn't try. The sands had almost run out.
***
The lock rattled, startling Calleigh. She had imagined the sound so often and been proven wrong that it took her a minute to realize that this was real. She and Horatio had just been lying there, thinking and praying, not speaking. No more contractions had come, at least. Maybe that one was just a lone advance scout.
The door swung open, and Otis entered. "How are we doing?" he inquired almost courteously. Calleigh wanted to claw his eyes out suddenly. Damn his shell of courtesy and consideration. Hank Kerner, for all his faults, had not falsely advertised who he was to the world.
"Fine, but I'm afraid we've got a long way to go," she lied. "Nothing happening at all yet, is there, Horatio?"
He didn't answer, and Calleigh wrenched her eyes away from Otis to look at him. His eyes were closed. Incredibly, he had managed to get to sleep again. Of course, she knew how exhausted and worn down by pain he was. Still, he ought to be aware of this. She shook him gently. No response. She shook him harder. He wasn't usually this hard to rouse. "Horatio," she hissed urgently. "Wake up. Otis is here." His eyes slowly opened, looking totally disoriented for a moment. He usually woke up instantly, like a well-oiled machine switching on. It was odd for his eyes to look so foggy. Of course, he was hardly at his best right now. "Wake up, Horatio." He finally managed to focus on her, then shifted to Otis as the man spoke.
"He doesn't look too good." Otis came to that side of the bed to study him with satisfaction. "I think this is working out nicely. I'm glad I didn't shoot you, Horatio. It would have just wasted a bullet, and you might have died too soon. You have to see things happen before you die. That's my revenge."
"He isn't dying," Calleigh insisted fiercely. "He just needs a few antibiotics, and he'll be fine." Suddenly, a fierce contraction hit her, and she fell back against the bed, gasping, her entire body seizing up. Horatio's eyes went back to her, and the last of the fog abruptly dissipated. They looked fully aware now.
Otis studied Calleigh with eager, twisted anticipation. "Not much longer now," he said. "Soon, I'll finally have one for my very own, and no one will ever take her away. I'll love her. My own daughter." He smiled at the thought and turned to leave the room again.
Like a jungle cat springing onto its prey, Horatio launched himself from the bed with the strength of absolute desperation. Otis had his back turned, not expecting anything from either of his hostages at this point, and Horatio landed on his shoulders and somehow, in the split second of frozen shock before response, managed to get his handcuffed hands over Otis' head and pull the connecting chain back against his throat. He locked both hands together behind the neck, tightening the pressure, and held on for dear lives – Calleigh's and Rosalind's, not his own. Otis was almost knocked over by the initial impact but never quite lost his feet, and now he fought back like a rodeo bull. He whipped around, slamming Horatio into the wall, clawing desperately at the chain that bit into his throat. The gun had been knocked loose from his hand by Horatio's initial pounce, and now it was kicked under the bed in the mad struggle. Horatio clung to him like an animal, holding nothing back, throwing body and soul into the effort, channeling all the fury he had ever felt for this man and his kind. None of the blows he took against the wall seemed to faze him. There was only Otis. His enemy could not shake him loose. Otis suddenly switched tactics and grabbed Horatio's left leg with his own left hand, twisting it around in front of him, making a sickening third joint halfway between knee and ankle.
Calleigh to this point had been utterly frozen on the bed, first by the contraction but then oddly in appreciation. There was a primal magnificence in this struggle which she knew had her as its prize, and she was spellbound for a second in spite of herself. That second ended when Otis twisted Horatio's leg around. Horatio did not cry out, in fact barely reacted at all. His entire being was focused into his hands just then. It was Calleigh who yelped in sympathetic pain. She pushed herself off the bed, looking desperately for any weapon, trying to help without getting too close, torn between her duties to Rosalind and to Horatio. The gun was out of reach. Finding nothing better to hand, she caught up the shaving cream from the bathroom and squirted it directly into Otis' eyes.
Otis released Horatio's leg and started pawing at his eyes instead. His whirlwind crashing around the room suddenly became much less directed, and Horatio seized the opportunity to catch his good leg against the wall and push off behind him unexpectedly, sending them both crashing into the corner of the bed. The collision knocked Otis down with Horatio on top. Horatio's sure hands shifted slightly, reaching around with his fingers, finding the carotid arteries running along each side of the neck. He clamped down on them, shutting off the blood supply to the brain, and held with everything he had left in him. Otis flopped like a fish out of water across the floor, but he couldn't shake his attacker loose. His struggles grew progressively weaker, and finally, he gave one ultimate convulsive jerk and lay still.
Horatio at first didn't realize that it was over. The roaring black whirlpool in the back of his mind had expanded, threatening to suck him down. His vision had ducked behind increasing shadows. He felt utterly disconnected from the world, the only point of contact with reality his fingers. He grew still in response as Otis did, but his hands still clamped down, like a bulldog not comprehending how to release.
Calleigh put down the shaving cream and crossed the room as quickly as she could manage in her condition. Horatio's face was absolutely gray, and his eyes were closed, which she thought must be in reaction to the pain. She knelt beside him, and it was Horatio whose pulse she checked first, not Otis. At that point, another powerful contraction tightened like a steel band around her body and mind, and she only registered that Horatio was still alive and didn't notice how fast and irregular his pulse actually was.
Horatio felt the contraction as she knelt next to him on the floor. It was the first thing other than his hands that he felt. Calleigh. Calleigh still needed him. He fought the whirlpool, heaving himself back out over the edge of it, though it still gaped ominously beneath him. The veil of shadows lifted reluctantly from his eyes. Slowly his fingers released their death grip. Otis did not move. Horatio stiffly worked his hands free over Otis' neck and reached for Calleigh, rubbing her back gently. The contraction gradually subsided, and her concerned eyes focused on his. "Are you okay, Horatio?"
"Yes," he said. "You need a doctor. Let's get out of here." He stood up, forgetting the leg, and totally fell over as he tried to take a normal step on it. The pain returned abruptly, searing him like a branding iron. Calleigh was beside him instantly, helping him up.
"You're the one who needs a doctor. Come on, Horatio, try to get to the bed." With her trying to take his weight and him trying not to let her, they lurched in each other's arms as far as the bed and more or less fell across it. They lay there together in exhausted victory for several minutes. Calleigh was the first one to move, sitting up, straightening him carefully out, cringing herself as she was forced to move his leg. She propped the pillow underneath his head. He was sweating, and his muscles were locked even tighter than hers had been during contractions as he fought the pain. She pulled his head against her leg and stroked his hair softly until the knotted cords of his muscles finally started to unravel a bit. Calleigh then bent over and kissed him gently, as if worried even that might hurt him.
"Horatio, I'm going to see if Otis has the handcuff key with him. You just lie here and rest a minute." He nodded without opening his eyes, and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and pushed herself off the bed. She hated to touch Otis, feeling like she was soiling herself somehow by the contact. She rolled him with her foot so that she could reach his pocket. Otis did have a key ring in his pocket, including the key to the door, but no handcuff key was on it. There was, however, a car key. Calleigh held it as reverently as the Holy Grail. The means to freedom, safety, and help was in her hands. Snapping back to her more immediate mission, she thought that Otis might have kept the handcuff key in another room somewhere, not wanting to get it too close to them. She looked back at Horatio. "I'm going to look around for the handcuff key. He doesn't have it on him." Horatio still had his eyes closed and didn't respond. Let him get whatever rest he could at the moment, Calleigh decided. She'd see if she could find anything to splint that leg with, too.
She lumbered out the door. It opened onto a short aisle lined with a few other small doors, but there was obvious daylight at the end of the corridor. Calleigh turned that way, then caught her breath, gasping, as her muscles contracted again. She leaned against the wall, forcing herself to breathe. "Not yet, Rosalind," she begged. "Hold your horses. We've got to find the way out of here and get help for your father first." The spasm passed, and she walked the rest of the way down the hall.
When she reached the end, she realized that they were in some sort of abandoned warehouse, as Horatio had guessed. A few old crates and dust lay around the large storeroom, and a couple of other aisles ran off, apparently to more small rooms and offices. Late morning sunlight came through high windows and danced in geometric patterns, highlighting the dust. The whole place looked like it hadn't been used in years, all except for one corner behind a crate. She headed that way. This was obviously where Otis had stayed. He had swept this area thoroughly. He had a bed in the corner, a table, supplies, and a microwave, and a small bathroom opened right behind the bed. The handcuff key was on the table, shining in the sunlight like a lighthouse to freedom. Calleigh unlocked her cuffs and felt a thrill of pure victory as they fell free. We beat you, she thought. We won, just like Horatio said. She picked up the papers on the table, where Otis had obviously been working on something, and froze. It was a list of names. Names for a child. Names for her child. "It's Rosalind," she said defiantly, and Rosalind kicked as if in response. "And you can't have her. You can never have her." She looked around the corner thoroughly, but the one thing she wanted most after the key was missing. There was no phone. There was also nothing she could possibly use to splint Horatio's leg, unless she broke a leg off the chair, which she doubted either of them had the strength to do at the moment.
She crossed the open area to the door and went outside, sucking in the fresh air gratefully. They seemed to be out in the country somewhere, some isolated area on a back road. Otis' car was parked nose to the building, and Calleigh climbed into the driver's seat. There was no car phone. When she tried the car key, though, the engine awoke smoothly. Fine, she thought, if help won't come to us, we'll go to help.
She hurried as much as she could back into the building and back down the aisle to their prison. She was seriously worried about Horatio. It was high time they left here and got him to a doctor. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of him attacking Otis, knowing how much it would hurt, fighting for his family. He had never looked as magnificent to her as he did in that moment. She reached the little room again, entering it with a shudder of distaste, glancing quickly at where Otis lay reassuringly dead in the corner before she crossed to the bed. She unlocked Horatio's handcuffs and pulled them free. He had apparently managed to get to sleep again, and he didn't stir at her actions, although she could feel him breathing. She rested one hand on his forehead worriedly, trying to gauge his fever. She had no thermometer, but when he had had a virus for a few days last fall and run a fever of 102.5, he hadn't felt nearly this hot. "Come on, love," she said. "Wake up. We've got to get you to a doctor."
Another contraction nearly doubled her up at that point, and Horatio opened his eyes and sat up, pulling her against him, comforting her silently. "You found the key to the cuffs," he realized abruptly, as soon as she had relaxed again.
"Right. And a car, Horatio! No phone anywhere, but there is a car. Let's go. We're getting out of here." She pulled the keys out of her pocket and twirled them in victory. Horatio reached out and took them from her, then pushed himself up off the bed and reached out to the wall for support.
"What are you doing, Horatio? Give me those keys."
"You can't drive a car when you're going into labor, Cal. That's ridiculous. Come on, let's go." He started painfully toward the door, using the wall to hold himself up, not leaning on her.
"You're in no condition to drive yourself. You can't even walk, Horatio!"
"It's the left leg. Automatic transmission, isn't it? I won't need a clutch."
"Yes, it's automatic transmission. Horatio, give me the keys!" She tried to take them from him, but his stubborn strength even exceeded hers.
"You aren't driving. You do need a doctor, though."
"Even aside from the transmission, you've got a fever of at least 103. Come on, Horatio. I'm the one who's driving. You're outvoted, two to one." She pulled frantically at him and succeeded finally in pulling the keys loose but also in almost knocking him down. He swayed and leaned quickly against the wall to avoid falling over.
"You aren't driving, Cal. You can't drive when you're in labor."
Calleigh set her chin stubbornly and pulled herself up to her full height, such as it was. "You can't even stand up. Horatio, having a car wreck isn't going to help us. I don't believe we're even having this discussion. You're in worse shape, so I'm the one who's driving. And that's final."
The contraction that seized her at that point hit an entirely new level on the Richter scale. She gasped, leaning against the wall herself, aware at a distance that Horatio had sidled down the wall to be next to her and put an arm around her comfortingly. She leaned against him, and they both leaned against the wall. It had more strength than either of them at the moment. Finally, the contraction eased. "You okay, Cal?" He stroked her damp hair back out of her eyes.
She pushed herself away from the wall to stand on shakily obedient legs. The contraction had passed, but she could sense others rumbling like approaching thunder on the horizon. The ringing in her ears was increasing, too. This shouldn't be happening this fast, she objected, but she was forced to recognize the truth now. Neither one of them was in any shape to drive. They had won the car, but they could not use it. "Actually, Horatio, I think Rosalind has decided to outvote both of us. My water just broke."
***
"In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger: Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood."
William Shakespeare, Henry V
***
The days melted together into one conglomerate of frustration. Speed sat in front of the CSI computer, tracking down another possibility for a lead that he suddenly knew would disintegrate into ashes like all of their other leads had. He wasn't even sure what day this was anymore. Life had condensed to this computer screen in front of him, punctuated by Alexx making them eat or leave to sleep for a few hours. There had been a few other punctuations, too, moments when they briefly thought they had the answer and it once again fell apart just as they were about to get their hands on it.
They had planted a tiny camera in Otis' cell hoping to catch the next tape delivery, and it worked perfectly. So the whole team had barreled over to the prison to question a security guard caught on tape. He was cooperative enough, once threatened by his supervisor, but he knew nothing. He had gambling debts. He had been approached through the mail offering him $500 per tape to deliver them under the pillow in that cell. The tapes and the $500 were mailed to his house. He had never talked to anyone, never knew what was on the tapes, had no more info. The CSIs had retrieved his latest envelope from his trash, only to discover that it had been mailed at a main Post Office in Miami, like thousands of other pieces of mail that day. A second envelope recovered had been mailed from another location entirely, just as anonymously. No trace that helped them was on the envelopes or the money. They did recover Otis' fingerprints on the money. So they now knew that Otis was behind this, which they had known anyway. Dead end.
The only other possibility was processing Rodriguez's life. His house had yielded drugs and pornography, but the CSIs didn't care about either just then. No clue to Otis' whereabouts. Processing his car had given them nothing. They had obtained credit card records, phone records, and bank account records on Rodriguez, as well as running his name through every database they could think of looking for any location, any remote and quiet location, that he had any connection to. He had kidnapped the family before Otis had gotten out, so he had almost certainly been the one to set up the hiding place where the hostages were held. Three times, Speed and Eric had thought that they had it and gone bolting off like the cavalry with Adele and reinforcements to some remote spot. Three times, they had been disappointed.
So now, Speed sat in front of the computer again, chasing another ghost lead. This is pointless, a voice in his mind told him. The guy probably paid in cash and used an assumed name. You won't find it through Visa. The trouble was, there was nothing else left to try. Speed wasn't working any less diligently on the case, but that nagging voice was getting to him, whispering that this would all be futile, just like so many things in his life had been. He felt guilty for the thoughts, even though he hadn't let them affect his work. It was like he was letting Horatio and Calleigh down. He suddenly wished that he could be the prisoner and them outside looking for him, not only for their sake but to increase the chances that Otis would be found and taken down, his power to hurt taken away permanently. Speed might try to imitate Horatio's example, but he knew he could never match it. Horatio was ahead of him in so many ways. The best chance of Otis being brought to justice would be if Horatio had been here at CSI running the search.
He wished it could happen. He knew it couldn't happen. He felt guilty for getting discouraged about the case. And all the while, his fingers kept punching in the keys, tracking another ghost lead through the databases.
***
Horatio woke up abruptly, gasping for air, feeling momentarily like he could not breathe. The feeling passed, but his ears were ringing, and his heart felt like it was turning somersaults in his chest. He lay quietly, as still as he could, breathing deeply and evenly. Who ever heard of feeling dizzy while you were lying down? Gradually, the shaky feeling subsided, and the room steadied around him. He realized suddenly that his clothes were wet, absolutely drenched in sweat. He was starting to shiver now as the wet garments hugged his skin. He had finally managed to get sound asleep, but the waking up was hardly worth it.
He turned his head cautiously, but the dizziness had passed. Calleigh lay beside him, her blonde hair falling halfway across her face. She was absolutely sound asleep, breathing deeply and peacefully, and he was glad for her. She hadn't been sleeping worth anything, either, worrying about him. The past however many days it had been were hardly what the doctor had ordered. She looked tired, and there were shadows under her eyes. Her cuffed hands were clasped protectively across her abdomen in her sleep. He wanted to join his with hers in promise to Rosalind that they would protect her somehow, but he didn't want to wake Calleigh up.
He suddenly realized that he might well wake Calleigh up anyway if he stayed here. He was shivering uncontrollably now. Better get out of these wet clothes and try to warm himself up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed stealthily, trying not to wake her. She was deeply asleep and did not move. Horatio stood on his good leg and bit his lip to avoid crying out as a tidal wave of pain crashed into him. His left toes had barely touched the ground, not taking weight, just aiding balance, but it felt like someone had sharpened the dagger stuck into the bottom of his leg. It hadn't hurt nearly this much to stand earlier. He held the foot entirely off the ground, and that was a little better. He took two hops to the wall and braced himself against it, then worked his way around the room to the pile of clothes. Bending to get fresh clothes made the dizziness return. There was a swirling black whirlpool in the back of his mind. He leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, and reminded himself that if he fell over, he would certainly wake Calleigh. The whirlpool shrank obediently. He turned and worked back around the room as quietly as he could to the bathroom, swinging the door gently shut so the sound of water would not awaken her. She was still sound asleep.
The hot water felt good, and the shiver fits gradually slowed and stopped. He cleaned up as much as he could, trying to warm up at the same time. Just getting the wet clothes off had been a great improvement. He even took time to shave, enjoying the hot water against his skin. He was feeling better by the time he finished. He pulled on fresh clothes but did not really look at his leg or unbandage it. Just bending over enough to pull his pants on made that whirlpool spin faster. He managed to prop himself against the sink enough to get his good leg into the pants without taking weight on the bad one. When he finished dressing, he leaned against the wall for several minutes. The room was pleasantly steamy now, and he felt warmer. Finally, he opened the door gently again. Calleigh was still sound asleep. He worked his way to the bed again and lay down. This was much better. Not nearly as cold now as before. Calleigh made a soft sound and snuggled down against him without waking up, and he pressed against her, being careful not to jolt his leg. Even better. He felt delightfully warm now, almost sleepy. Even the pain had retreated somewhat. He couldn't let himself rest, though, much as he suddenly wanted to. He lay there with his eyes open and thought through their situation.
Something had to be done, and soon. He knew that he needed antibiotics and treatment for his leg, but it was Calleigh who worried him more. He sensed her time approaching, and he vowed fiercely to himself that he would protect her and Rosalind. Otis would never get his daughter. The next time Otis came in here, Horatio would tackle him, would force an opening if he had to. If he died in the attempt, he would at least make sure that he disabled Otis, preferably dragging his enemy down to death along with him. Then Calleigh and Rosalind would be safe, at least. There were no remaining options. The team had not found them, and they could not wait any longer. It was up to him. He remembered Belle King, and an hourglass suddenly appeared, hovering just over him on the bed. He eyed it with mild curiosity, but it seemed somehow natural that it should be there. Maybe it had been there all along, and he just hadn't noticed it until now. The thing that mattered was that the sands in it were running out. He had to act. The trouble was, Otis had not been in the room for several days. They had both lost track of time, but they knew it had been several days. He has to come, Horatio told himself. He has to come to take Rosalind, even if he doesn't come before. And when he comes, I'll be ready.
***
Calleigh woke up slowly, hazily, at first not remembering where she was. She felt weighed down with lassitude. She stretched slightly, and the handcuffs clanked, bringing it all back. She considered closing her eyes and ignoring reality again, to see if she could recapture her pleasant dreams. It was Horatio who decided it for her. They were pressed tightly against each other, and she suddenly realized that he felt even more feverish than he had before. She looked over at him worriedly. He had apparently gotten soundly to sleep himself at last, and she was glad. He'd hardly slept at all since they had been here. He seemed totally out now, though. She reached across and placed her hand on his forehead, trying not to let the handcuffs clank too much. He never stirred. His fever had definitely gone higher.
Calleigh removed her hand and settled back, chewing her lip in worry. They absolutely had to get him to a doctor. He needed some antibiotics, the sooner the better. But what options were there? They could try breaking down the door. She shook her head, picturing it. Him fighting an infection and on one leg and her nine months pregnant. The door would probably laugh at them, if it noticed at all. Waiting for the team wasn't getting them anywhere, apparently. The only other option was tackling Otis, but she couldn't tackle Otis herself without hurting her daughter. Horatio could hardly stand, let alone fight, and his capabilities were decreasing by the hour. God, she prayed, help us. Something has to change.
Something did change, but it hardly seemed an answer to prayer just then. Every muscle across her abdomen tightened up suddenly, and she recognized it as a contraction. Not yet, she whispered. Please, Rosalind, not yet. This world isn't safe to be born into right now. It seemed sharper and longer than it should have been for an early one. Calleigh had broken out into a sweat, and she clutched Horatio's hand tightly, unable to stop herself. He shifted slowly, then opened his eyes, then opened them wider. "Cal, is it. . ."
The spasm passed. "It's a contraction," she confirmed. "First one, but it sure was a strong one."
"She can't be born yet." His voice was taut with worry.
"I know. Not now."
Their eyes met each other with frantic concern. They lay there in silence. The time for words had passed. Horatio saw the hourglass appear over the bed again, vivid enough to touch if he tried, but he didn't try. The sands had almost run out.
***
The lock rattled, startling Calleigh. She had imagined the sound so often and been proven wrong that it took her a minute to realize that this was real. She and Horatio had just been lying there, thinking and praying, not speaking. No more contractions had come, at least. Maybe that one was just a lone advance scout.
The door swung open, and Otis entered. "How are we doing?" he inquired almost courteously. Calleigh wanted to claw his eyes out suddenly. Damn his shell of courtesy and consideration. Hank Kerner, for all his faults, had not falsely advertised who he was to the world.
"Fine, but I'm afraid we've got a long way to go," she lied. "Nothing happening at all yet, is there, Horatio?"
He didn't answer, and Calleigh wrenched her eyes away from Otis to look at him. His eyes were closed. Incredibly, he had managed to get to sleep again. Of course, she knew how exhausted and worn down by pain he was. Still, he ought to be aware of this. She shook him gently. No response. She shook him harder. He wasn't usually this hard to rouse. "Horatio," she hissed urgently. "Wake up. Otis is here." His eyes slowly opened, looking totally disoriented for a moment. He usually woke up instantly, like a well-oiled machine switching on. It was odd for his eyes to look so foggy. Of course, he was hardly at his best right now. "Wake up, Horatio." He finally managed to focus on her, then shifted to Otis as the man spoke.
"He doesn't look too good." Otis came to that side of the bed to study him with satisfaction. "I think this is working out nicely. I'm glad I didn't shoot you, Horatio. It would have just wasted a bullet, and you might have died too soon. You have to see things happen before you die. That's my revenge."
"He isn't dying," Calleigh insisted fiercely. "He just needs a few antibiotics, and he'll be fine." Suddenly, a fierce contraction hit her, and she fell back against the bed, gasping, her entire body seizing up. Horatio's eyes went back to her, and the last of the fog abruptly dissipated. They looked fully aware now.
Otis studied Calleigh with eager, twisted anticipation. "Not much longer now," he said. "Soon, I'll finally have one for my very own, and no one will ever take her away. I'll love her. My own daughter." He smiled at the thought and turned to leave the room again.
Like a jungle cat springing onto its prey, Horatio launched himself from the bed with the strength of absolute desperation. Otis had his back turned, not expecting anything from either of his hostages at this point, and Horatio landed on his shoulders and somehow, in the split second of frozen shock before response, managed to get his handcuffed hands over Otis' head and pull the connecting chain back against his throat. He locked both hands together behind the neck, tightening the pressure, and held on for dear lives – Calleigh's and Rosalind's, not his own. Otis was almost knocked over by the initial impact but never quite lost his feet, and now he fought back like a rodeo bull. He whipped around, slamming Horatio into the wall, clawing desperately at the chain that bit into his throat. The gun had been knocked loose from his hand by Horatio's initial pounce, and now it was kicked under the bed in the mad struggle. Horatio clung to him like an animal, holding nothing back, throwing body and soul into the effort, channeling all the fury he had ever felt for this man and his kind. None of the blows he took against the wall seemed to faze him. There was only Otis. His enemy could not shake him loose. Otis suddenly switched tactics and grabbed Horatio's left leg with his own left hand, twisting it around in front of him, making a sickening third joint halfway between knee and ankle.
Calleigh to this point had been utterly frozen on the bed, first by the contraction but then oddly in appreciation. There was a primal magnificence in this struggle which she knew had her as its prize, and she was spellbound for a second in spite of herself. That second ended when Otis twisted Horatio's leg around. Horatio did not cry out, in fact barely reacted at all. His entire being was focused into his hands just then. It was Calleigh who yelped in sympathetic pain. She pushed herself off the bed, looking desperately for any weapon, trying to help without getting too close, torn between her duties to Rosalind and to Horatio. The gun was out of reach. Finding nothing better to hand, she caught up the shaving cream from the bathroom and squirted it directly into Otis' eyes.
Otis released Horatio's leg and started pawing at his eyes instead. His whirlwind crashing around the room suddenly became much less directed, and Horatio seized the opportunity to catch his good leg against the wall and push off behind him unexpectedly, sending them both crashing into the corner of the bed. The collision knocked Otis down with Horatio on top. Horatio's sure hands shifted slightly, reaching around with his fingers, finding the carotid arteries running along each side of the neck. He clamped down on them, shutting off the blood supply to the brain, and held with everything he had left in him. Otis flopped like a fish out of water across the floor, but he couldn't shake his attacker loose. His struggles grew progressively weaker, and finally, he gave one ultimate convulsive jerk and lay still.
Horatio at first didn't realize that it was over. The roaring black whirlpool in the back of his mind had expanded, threatening to suck him down. His vision had ducked behind increasing shadows. He felt utterly disconnected from the world, the only point of contact with reality his fingers. He grew still in response as Otis did, but his hands still clamped down, like a bulldog not comprehending how to release.
Calleigh put down the shaving cream and crossed the room as quickly as she could manage in her condition. Horatio's face was absolutely gray, and his eyes were closed, which she thought must be in reaction to the pain. She knelt beside him, and it was Horatio whose pulse she checked first, not Otis. At that point, another powerful contraction tightened like a steel band around her body and mind, and she only registered that Horatio was still alive and didn't notice how fast and irregular his pulse actually was.
Horatio felt the contraction as she knelt next to him on the floor. It was the first thing other than his hands that he felt. Calleigh. Calleigh still needed him. He fought the whirlpool, heaving himself back out over the edge of it, though it still gaped ominously beneath him. The veil of shadows lifted reluctantly from his eyes. Slowly his fingers released their death grip. Otis did not move. Horatio stiffly worked his hands free over Otis' neck and reached for Calleigh, rubbing her back gently. The contraction gradually subsided, and her concerned eyes focused on his. "Are you okay, Horatio?"
"Yes," he said. "You need a doctor. Let's get out of here." He stood up, forgetting the leg, and totally fell over as he tried to take a normal step on it. The pain returned abruptly, searing him like a branding iron. Calleigh was beside him instantly, helping him up.
"You're the one who needs a doctor. Come on, Horatio, try to get to the bed." With her trying to take his weight and him trying not to let her, they lurched in each other's arms as far as the bed and more or less fell across it. They lay there together in exhausted victory for several minutes. Calleigh was the first one to move, sitting up, straightening him carefully out, cringing herself as she was forced to move his leg. She propped the pillow underneath his head. He was sweating, and his muscles were locked even tighter than hers had been during contractions as he fought the pain. She pulled his head against her leg and stroked his hair softly until the knotted cords of his muscles finally started to unravel a bit. Calleigh then bent over and kissed him gently, as if worried even that might hurt him.
"Horatio, I'm going to see if Otis has the handcuff key with him. You just lie here and rest a minute." He nodded without opening his eyes, and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and pushed herself off the bed. She hated to touch Otis, feeling like she was soiling herself somehow by the contact. She rolled him with her foot so that she could reach his pocket. Otis did have a key ring in his pocket, including the key to the door, but no handcuff key was on it. There was, however, a car key. Calleigh held it as reverently as the Holy Grail. The means to freedom, safety, and help was in her hands. Snapping back to her more immediate mission, she thought that Otis might have kept the handcuff key in another room somewhere, not wanting to get it too close to them. She looked back at Horatio. "I'm going to look around for the handcuff key. He doesn't have it on him." Horatio still had his eyes closed and didn't respond. Let him get whatever rest he could at the moment, Calleigh decided. She'd see if she could find anything to splint that leg with, too.
She lumbered out the door. It opened onto a short aisle lined with a few other small doors, but there was obvious daylight at the end of the corridor. Calleigh turned that way, then caught her breath, gasping, as her muscles contracted again. She leaned against the wall, forcing herself to breathe. "Not yet, Rosalind," she begged. "Hold your horses. We've got to find the way out of here and get help for your father first." The spasm passed, and she walked the rest of the way down the hall.
When she reached the end, she realized that they were in some sort of abandoned warehouse, as Horatio had guessed. A few old crates and dust lay around the large storeroom, and a couple of other aisles ran off, apparently to more small rooms and offices. Late morning sunlight came through high windows and danced in geometric patterns, highlighting the dust. The whole place looked like it hadn't been used in years, all except for one corner behind a crate. She headed that way. This was obviously where Otis had stayed. He had swept this area thoroughly. He had a bed in the corner, a table, supplies, and a microwave, and a small bathroom opened right behind the bed. The handcuff key was on the table, shining in the sunlight like a lighthouse to freedom. Calleigh unlocked her cuffs and felt a thrill of pure victory as they fell free. We beat you, she thought. We won, just like Horatio said. She picked up the papers on the table, where Otis had obviously been working on something, and froze. It was a list of names. Names for a child. Names for her child. "It's Rosalind," she said defiantly, and Rosalind kicked as if in response. "And you can't have her. You can never have her." She looked around the corner thoroughly, but the one thing she wanted most after the key was missing. There was no phone. There was also nothing she could possibly use to splint Horatio's leg, unless she broke a leg off the chair, which she doubted either of them had the strength to do at the moment.
She crossed the open area to the door and went outside, sucking in the fresh air gratefully. They seemed to be out in the country somewhere, some isolated area on a back road. Otis' car was parked nose to the building, and Calleigh climbed into the driver's seat. There was no car phone. When she tried the car key, though, the engine awoke smoothly. Fine, she thought, if help won't come to us, we'll go to help.
She hurried as much as she could back into the building and back down the aisle to their prison. She was seriously worried about Horatio. It was high time they left here and got him to a doctor. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of him attacking Otis, knowing how much it would hurt, fighting for his family. He had never looked as magnificent to her as he did in that moment. She reached the little room again, entering it with a shudder of distaste, glancing quickly at where Otis lay reassuringly dead in the corner before she crossed to the bed. She unlocked Horatio's handcuffs and pulled them free. He had apparently managed to get to sleep again, and he didn't stir at her actions, although she could feel him breathing. She rested one hand on his forehead worriedly, trying to gauge his fever. She had no thermometer, but when he had had a virus for a few days last fall and run a fever of 102.5, he hadn't felt nearly this hot. "Come on, love," she said. "Wake up. We've got to get you to a doctor."
Another contraction nearly doubled her up at that point, and Horatio opened his eyes and sat up, pulling her against him, comforting her silently. "You found the key to the cuffs," he realized abruptly, as soon as she had relaxed again.
"Right. And a car, Horatio! No phone anywhere, but there is a car. Let's go. We're getting out of here." She pulled the keys out of her pocket and twirled them in victory. Horatio reached out and took them from her, then pushed himself up off the bed and reached out to the wall for support.
"What are you doing, Horatio? Give me those keys."
"You can't drive a car when you're going into labor, Cal. That's ridiculous. Come on, let's go." He started painfully toward the door, using the wall to hold himself up, not leaning on her.
"You're in no condition to drive yourself. You can't even walk, Horatio!"
"It's the left leg. Automatic transmission, isn't it? I won't need a clutch."
"Yes, it's automatic transmission. Horatio, give me the keys!" She tried to take them from him, but his stubborn strength even exceeded hers.
"You aren't driving. You do need a doctor, though."
"Even aside from the transmission, you've got a fever of at least 103. Come on, Horatio. I'm the one who's driving. You're outvoted, two to one." She pulled frantically at him and succeeded finally in pulling the keys loose but also in almost knocking him down. He swayed and leaned quickly against the wall to avoid falling over.
"You aren't driving, Cal. You can't drive when you're in labor."
Calleigh set her chin stubbornly and pulled herself up to her full height, such as it was. "You can't even stand up. Horatio, having a car wreck isn't going to help us. I don't believe we're even having this discussion. You're in worse shape, so I'm the one who's driving. And that's final."
The contraction that seized her at that point hit an entirely new level on the Richter scale. She gasped, leaning against the wall herself, aware at a distance that Horatio had sidled down the wall to be next to her and put an arm around her comfortingly. She leaned against him, and they both leaned against the wall. It had more strength than either of them at the moment. Finally, the contraction eased. "You okay, Cal?" He stroked her damp hair back out of her eyes.
She pushed herself away from the wall to stand on shakily obedient legs. The contraction had passed, but she could sense others rumbling like approaching thunder on the horizon. The ringing in her ears was increasing, too. This shouldn't be happening this fast, she objected, but she was forced to recognize the truth now. Neither one of them was in any shape to drive. They had won the car, but they could not use it. "Actually, Horatio, I think Rosalind has decided to outvote both of us. My water just broke."
