Title: His Last Case

Disclaimer: Violence. Slash. Angst.

POV: Horatio

Chapter Twelve: Finding the Lost Son
Friday Morning- 3:10am

I find myself back at the warehouse. Hagen's recount of the night bugs me. Why would Speed be here? What game is being played and when will it end?

Worse yet, how hurt is Timothy? Hagen swears he actually talked to him. Which means before the fire he was still alive. However, Hagen says Speed looked dead. He couldn't tell if he was breathing. There had been too much smoke.

Now all that is left is a large pile of rubble.

No bodies.

Someone brought Speed here. Someone made him contact Hagen. Someone set the building on fire. Someone shot Hagen. This person has my friend and is pissing me off.

I gaze out at the ocean. Sighing in despair, I think back over the years. All my years in Law Enforcement. So many deaths. My bomb squad mentor. My brother. Now, just maybe, the death of a dear friend.

How am I going to tell Delko about this evening? He is already lost. Already to let go. And it's my fault. I teamed them up that night. I should have sent a cop with them. One of my own, one I knew I could trust. I let Delko down. I am the one responsible for Tim's disappearance.

I turn down my street. The lights at my place are off. Calleigh is still sleeping. I left without waking her. She needs to rest. Perhaps I do too. Yet, every time I sleep, I see Speed. He's sitting there, I run to him, everything turns red, and he screams in pain. I wake up in a cold sweat.

As I near my house I notice something odd. A man running from my place. Two doors down he hops in a car and promptly takes off. I drive faster to catch up. But as I actually near my place I notice something in the driveway.

A body.

Calleigh!

I slam on the brakes and exit the car. I don't even take time to call for back-up. The body in the driveway doesn't belong to Calleigh.

It's Speed.

"Speed!"

He's lying on his back, not moving. Someone took the time to dress him in a long sleeve button down.

"Don't be dead," I mutter.

I kneel beside him; check his neck for a pulse. It's weak but it's there. I sigh with relief. A glance toward the house makes me tense. I left Calleigh inside. Alone.

As I creep to the front door I draw my gun. Every few minutes I glance back at Speed. I'm afraid to let him out of my sight. So I make a decision.

The front door is unlocked. Did I leave it that way? Cautiously I open the door. Nothing happens.

"Calleigh!" I yell. "Calleigh!"

I can see down the hallway. The light in my guest room comes on. Call steps into the hall rubbing sleep from her eyes. She's in nothing but a big, baggy shirt.

"What is going on, H?" She asks in a sleepy tone.

"Grab your gun. And call for help."

"What? Why?" All traces of sleep are gone.

"Just do it. Be careful walking through the house. I'll be outside if you need me."

She nods before disappearing back into the room. I return to Speed. His skin is pale. His hair messed up. His watch and belt are missing. Strange.

"H?"

I turn to see Cal at the door. She has on a pair of pants now. "Yes?"

"The house is empty. Back-up is on the way."

"Did you have them send an ambulance?"

"No. Was I supposed to?"

"If you want to save Speed, you'll call for an ambulance."

Her eyes grow wide. She calls in the ambulance. I look down at Speed. Something is wrong. I crouch down to look at him.

"H, are you actually going to disturb the crime scene?" Cal asks.

"Would you please do something for me?"

"Sure."

"Get me a trash bag from under the sink and a blanket from the hall closet."

Without my asking Cal turns on the outside lights. Something I hadn't thought of. The lights illuminate the thing that's bugging me.

Stains.

Blood?

I unbutton the grass green shirt.

"Something wrong, H?"

"Don't come over here!"

Too late.

"Oh, my…"

I don't want her to see this.

"Cal, go back to the house."

"H-"

"Go see where our help is."

Reluctantly she goes. I shake my head in disbelief. Speed's ribs are a mix of purple and yellow. Multiple kicks caused the bruising perhaps even breaking ribs. A shallow cut on his side bleeds a little; nothing to worry about. Wrong.

"Calleigh!" I yell.

"What?"

"Where the hell is that ambulance?"

"They got delayed by an accident. Why? What's wrong?"

"Call them and tell them to get their ass here! It's an emergency."

"H-"

"He's not breathing, Calleigh!"