Still don't own them. What's with that? C'mon, Santa... I've been so good this year!

Yup... this is the final chapter. I seem to have forgotten the 'TBC' on chapter one but never fear... this is the second and final chapter. Thanks go once again to Delga and Becs for betaing and supporting. Praise, love and cookies are welcome, and Kennedy has offered to send Rory Cochrane in a box so Christmas day is gonna be squealy. Teehee. Thanks dude! -hug- anyhoo, on with the fic...

Candle in the Dark

I know what's beautiful looking at you, in a world of lies you are the truth.

Hours later her eyes open, and for a moment she's startled – her walls are pale yellow, not ice blue. The previous night cannonballs into her brain like a bullet and as she shakes her head to clear the cobwebs, she realises her arm is asleep. She shifts slightly so she can see him – dead to the world, curled up beside her. Her arm is beneath his shoulders and his right arm is slung over her stomach. Somehow they're both lying beneath the thin cotton sheets.

She glances over him at the clock on the table by his bedside – two fifteen. She doesn't know quite when she fell asleep, but she guesses she's slept for at least an hour and a half. He stirs as she prises her arm from beneath him and she whispers soothingly, finally freeing it and wriggling her fingers to try and regain the feeling.

It's only now she's free and can roll over to see him that she realises he's drenched in sweat. His face is twisted like he's in pain and it's all she can do not to wake him up and protect him from whatever he's seeing in his dreams.

She chokes back a sob and drapes her arm across his chest soothingly. It's almost as if he senses her there even in the midst of sleep, because he calms instantly, blinding reaching out for her hand. Her heart swells with love and breaks in two at the same time as she watches him toss and turn restlessly.

She toys with the idea of waking him up. He can't be benefiting from the turbulent sleep, she thinks to herself. She wonders what he's seeing behind the closed lids of his eyes. She's pretty sure she knows, but more than anything, she wants to experience it – for him, or with him, she doesn't mind – she just wants to be able to hold him and soothe him, if for no other reason than to stop her own heart breaking for him.

She settles for draping one arm across his chest and the other running softly through his sweat-drenched hair. She lies propped up on one elbow, facing him, until the sun begins to rise and slumber finally claims her as its own.

x.x.x

He wakes up to find himself curled up in the foetal position, something warm and solid against his back. He almost panics until he sees a glimmer of light, a few strands of her golden blonde hair tossed over his shoulder as she moved in her sleep. He realises he's holding her hand, and her other hand is tangled in his hair. He almost wonders why she's asleep beside him, in his bed – how he managed to get her there – but he doesn't. He doesn't want to jinx it.

He slips away quietly, carefully lifting her arms away and replacing them gently so as not to disturb her. She looks peaceful but exhausted, as if she hasn't slept – he has no idea that she's been awake all night, sick with worry. He grabs a set of clean clothes from his closet and finds a towel in the cupboard, before heading through to his bathroom.

He showers quickly, but stands under the water for several minutes, the scalding spray beating down on his broad shoulders. He hopes the cliché is true, that it'll wash away the worries and burdens, but even when the water turns cold and he steps out, his shoulders are still heavy and he's still plagued by yesterday's dramatic turn of events. He sways as he wraps a towel around his waist and it occurs to him that he's barely eaten more than a bagel in the last week.

He dries off and dresses, discarding the towel in the wicker basket in the corner along with his nightwear. He throws open the window and breathes in the fresh air, pausing for a second to hear the morning birdsong. He's scared to go back into his bedroom in case she was just an illusion, but he does anyway. She's still there, propped up on her elbow, watching the door patiently.

'Hey' she murmurs, smiling. 'How're you feeling today?'

'Better.' He answers. He realises his voice is hoarse as he makes his way to sit on the bed beside her.

She takes his hand in hers and realises it's still trembling. She clasps it tightly between both of her own, blinking back tears. She shuffles closer without letting go of his hands, until she's close enough to pull him close into a hug. It's much closer than yesterday's hug in the locker room. It's closer than any hug they've ever shared before. He's wearing a pale blue shirt and suit trousers and she's wearing the sweatpants and old tank top she keeps in her car for emergencies. The top button of his shirt is unfastened and he doesn't look like the Horatio she knows – or knew. He looks very much like the broken man she met for the first time yesterday.

She glances at the clock – it reads seven twenty. Normally she'd have been up for a little over an hour already, but she plans on calling in sick today – for the two of them. He notices her looking at the clock as she releases him from her embrace.

'I should leave soon,' he tells her. 'Criminals won't catch themselves.'

'Eric's in. Someone from Grave can cover. You're not working today.'

'Calleigh…'

'You're not working today, Horatio. Neither am I. I'm staying here with you. You're exhausted, Horatio. You've probably not eaten in at least a week, and I'm willing to bet it's been longer since you last slept.'

He never could give in when she was set in her ways – he still can't. He sighs and relents, smiling as her slight scowl gave way to the bright grin that he could only describe as Calleigh. The sort of grin that makes you smile even on a terrible day.

'I'm gonna go home… shower… get some fresh clothes. Then I'll be back, okay?'

He nods, throwing himself back onto the bed. It's only now she's mentioned it that he realises he's more than exhausted. Within minutes his breathing evens out and she slips away quietly, using her cell to tell Eric that neither of them will be in – for the next two days, at least.

She pauses in the doorway to watch him for a minute – broken, but together. Peaceful, calm, but she knows there's a storm raging inside – and as long as he lives, there'll always be a storm there, because that's who he is.