A/N: Somebody requested a timetable, particularly with Rosalind. Betrayal takes place in mid January. Rosalind is one and a half months shy of being two years old. I realize she's not the typical almost 2-year-old. I've never had kids myself and never will, but I do have an "expert witness" who has dealt with many kids, both typical and not, and everything about Rosalind, from personality to activities, is based on actual experience in reality, and at that age or earlier. Horatio and Calleigh have been married for three years and four months. I'm not obsessed to the point of working out what year it is, though. :)
Betrayal is going on vacation for the next week while I deal with pre concert week and extra rehearsals leading to a concert next weekend.
Thanks for the feedback.
(H/C)
"Truth exists, only falsehood has to be invented."
Georges Braque
(H/C)
Calleigh slowly, one by one, put her books in her locker as if the precise arrangement of them were critically important. While all other students bustled around her, hurrying for the doors, newly released from the school cage into the weekend, her actions slowed down more the closer she got to leaving. Finally, she was left standing in front of the organized locker, looking for anything else to keep her there. School was an escape for her. It was home that was the cage.
"Calleigh!" She turned gladly to face the interruption. Another delay, one she didn't even have to manufacture.
"Hey, Winslow."
The handsome black teen walked up to her, stopping a few feet away. One of the things that had struck her from the beginning was how much he was aware of and respected personal space, quite rare among the often-oblivious students. He never forced his presence on anyone uninvited. She smiled at him, leaning against the locker, and he advanced another half step. "I wanted to ask you something."
He hesitated so long there that Calleigh's interest was caught. "Better ask it, then, before we both get old standing here."
He shifted his weight slightly. Winslow never seemed uncomfortable or ungraceful, but he was both now. He gulped, eying the beautiful blonde spitfire in front of him, and she raised an eyebrow. "Wouldyougotopromwithme?" he blurted out.
Her mouth literally fell open. Why would anybody want to take her to prom, especially with the other dates available? Immediately on the heels of that thought came another. It was a terrific excuse to escape home for a night. "Sure," she said quickly. "I'd love to, Winslow. Thank you for asking." Her first thought caught up again with her second, and she added, "But if you find someone else you'd rather go with, or if something comes up, I'll understand. You don't have to feel obligated."
He studied her with those warm brown eyes that she had loved from the beginning. So much kindness there. So gentle. He was the first person she had ever met who combined gentleness with strength. "I'm asking you," he insisted.
"And I've accepted." Today, you're asking me. She knew him by now, but she still had trouble believing. Everyone else in her life lied. Sooner or later, he would.
"Not everybody in the world is going to betray your trust. You can believe in some of us." He reached out to squeeze her arm lightly, making the movement slow enough that she saw it coming and could have avoided it if she had wanted. "I'll pick you up at 7:00. I promise." He turned and walked down the hall, and a sadness walked with him, the sadness of one who wishes he could change things and knows that he cannot.
Calleigh stood by the locker without even looking for an excuse to just stand there. Of course everybody was going to betray her trust. Even Winslow would eventually, and she wouldn't hold it against him. The amazing thing was how long it seemed to be taking him to lie to her. Still, her heart was beating a little more quickly and not just in anticipation of going home. He had asked her to the prom. Even if just as a substitute, he had thought of her. Someone wanted to be with her. "Thank you, Winslow," she repeated to the empty, echoing halls.
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!
Calleigh opened her eyes, disoriented for a minute. Her house. Her bedroom. The alarm clock. She smacked it into submission and lay back for a minute, remembering the dream. It had been years since she'd thought of that conversation. At least she knew now that he had been right, that not everybody in the world would betray her trust.
At that thought, she realized that for the second morning in a row, she had woken up alone. She'd checked on Horatio several times through the night, and he had been sleeping soundly, but he was gone now. She sat up quickly, reaching over to touch the pillow beside her. It was still vaguely warm, and she spread her hand out to capture the heat, his heat, feeling it soak into her fingers. Calleigh, she told herself, you're pathetic, and she didn't care. She could hear the shower running now. Horatio was already up and had slipped out of bed soundlessly, not wanting to deny her the last few delicious minutes of sleep. How thoughtful of him. As always.
The shower shut off, and Calleigh got up and slipped on her robe. She looked in on Rosalind, still sleeping soundly, and then opened the bathroom door, entering with a firm tread just as he was combing his hair in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around his waist. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
Horatio grinned at her reflection, which had joined his in the mirror. "Good morning."
"Good morning. I asked you a question."
"Taking a shower."
She grasped him around the waist and spun him to face her, putting her hand against his forehead. Nearly impossible to tell, of course, as he had just taken a hot shower, and the room was still warm. She pulled out the thermometer from the medicine cabinet and inserted it.
"I'm fine. All better now," he mumbled around the glass.
She studied him, trying not to get sidetracked. He looked his usual handsome self, but his eyes had the look she knew by now meant he was keeping up a front for the world. The question was, how much of a front? She handed him his robe. "Put this on and stop distracting me. How are you feeling? Honestly, Horatio."
"Have I ever lied to you?" he asked around the mouthful of thermometer.
She smiled at the echo of Winslow's thought. The prophecy and, years later, the fulfillment. "Not on anything that really mattered. But physically and about yourself, sometimes, yes." She pulled the thermometer out and checked it. Normal.
"I'm feeling a lot better," he insisted. "Fever's gone, cough is gone, and the work isn't gone."
"But is better well? I've had it myself, Horatio. I was still pretty wiped out at this stage."
"I'm fine," he insisted, and she knew she wouldn't breach the wall. Besides, although he might not have his usual energy and endurance today, he probably wouldn't do any harm beyond wearing himself out by going in and catching up on paperwork. He was obviously on the mend, and if left at home, he would spend the day housecleaning or something, just to prove he was well. Paperwork would be less strenuous. They only had one big case going at the moment, and that one was hers. She had promised Winslow.
"Okay, Horatio, but I have a favor to ask." His eyes invited her to continue. "Let me keep the lead on Winslow's wife's murder. I want this investigation myself."
He nodded. "Of course. It will probably help him for you to be working it."
She embraced him, overwhelmed with gratitude again at what she had. "Thank you, Horatio." They were standing there wrapped in each other's arms when Rosalind was heard from the next room.
"Mama?"
"Just a minute, Rosalind," Calleigh answered.
Horatio raised an eyebrow. "Not calling for me too this morning? That's odd. What did I do?"
"She probably thinks you're supposed to still be in bed. She's probably right."
He changed the subject neatly. "I'll get her up while you shower."
After he left and closed the door again, Calleigh waited to turn on the water, ears alert to catch the conversation from the next room. The words were a bit muffled but perfectly understandable.
"Good morning, Angel."
"Morning. Back to bed, Dada!"
"No, I'm all better now. People don't stay sick forever, just like you didn't."
Rosalind was silent for a few seconds, and Calleigh smiled, picturing her daughter's slightly tilted head and analytical gaze. She was observant, their daughter. She didn't totally believe Horatio, either.
"Not sick?"
"No, I'm fine. You and your mother are teaming up on me. Everything's okay, Rosalind. Now, let's get you up and see about breakfast. We ought to have it done by the time Mama gets out of the shower – if she ever gets into it, that is." Calleigh turned on the water quickly, smiling to herself, enjoying her family. Winslow, she thought, you were right.
(H/C)
Alexx carefully probed for the bullets, crooning reassuringly to the body as she did so. "Poor baby. At least you never saw it coming. Hope you were having a nice dream."
Calleigh smiled slightly to herself, and Alexx arched an eyebrow. "Nice dreams. I had a good one last night."
"About Horatio?"
"In a way," Calleigh evaded. True enough. Winslow had been talking about Horatio; he just didn't know it. "So which came first, Alexx? Shotgun or 9 mil?"
"Shotgun." Alexx held up a 9-mm bullet trapped in her forceps. "This bullet was sitting almost on top of a pellet. Did you get anything yesterday from the casings?"
"No. Nothing useful. I'll keep working on it, though."
"I'm sure," Alexx replied. Calleigh with ballistics evidence was like a bulldog. "Ah, here's another one." Another bullet was extracted. "I think that's it on the bullets. Shotgun pellets all over, of course. The shotgun blew her face off and killed her instantly, and then she was shot twice with the handgun."
"Any way of telling how long between?"
Alexx frowned, eyeing the body. "Very difficult. The shotgun did so much damage at that close range, we don't really have defined entry wounds for the bullets. Even if we did, lack of bleeding wouldn't necessarily mean she was dead already. Bullets are quite hot when they've just been fired. It could easily have seared vessels on the way in. Are you thinking two separate perps?"
Calleigh nodded. "It's the best theory right now, anyway. That would explain the shotgun shells kicked under the bed. Perp A killed her with a shotgun, and Perp B came along a bit later and wanted to make it look like a handgun instead."
"Sounds like a lot of enemies. Why a handgun? And why not take the shells with him, instead of kicking them under the bed?" Alexx continued to extract pellets as they talked.
"I don't know yet. Maybe he kicked the shells accidentally. The handgun had to be intentional, though. Somebody who doesn't know how much we can do with a crime scene. He needed the handgun to be the murder weapon." She shook her head, objecting even as she spoke. "But it seems like any idiot would realize we'd notice about the shotgun. It tore her whole face off." Her previous day's thought came back to her. Even though she hadn't been thinking of it at the time of her request this morning, she was glad Horatio would stay off this case. She was silent long enough that Alexx looked up at her, noting the distant eyes.
"You okay, honey?"
Calleigh shook herself back to the case. "Fine." She caught the echo of Horatio and smiled. "I sound like Horatio, don't I?" Alexx nodded. "Really, I'm okay. I was just thinking, I'm glad he's not on this one." Alexx was the only other person besides Calleigh who knew everything Horatio had hidden for so long about his mother's death.
Alexx nodded. "Good thinking on your part asking him to let you keep the case." Calleigh didn't correct her on motives, although she felt a bit guilty. It should have been a motive this morning. "How's Horatio doing?" Alexx asked.
"Getting better all the time. He hardly ever dreams about it anymore, and last April was a lot better. He'll never forget, but we're winning."
"There's a difference between remembering and being haunted by something," Alexx agreed. "There we are. That's the last pellet, I think." She dropped it into the dish Calleigh was holding.
"Alexx, be sure to run tox tests, okay? Although if anybody was drugged, it must have included the whole neighborhood. Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything."
"You got it, sweetie. I won't cut corners just because we know she was shot." She resumed her low murmur to the body as Calleigh whisked out of the room, heading for Ballistics, the bullets burning a hole in her lab coat pocket.
(H/C)
Speed slouched into Ballistics early that afternoon, not bothering to knock, and Calleigh jumped as he spoke to her. "Calleigh, I . . . hey, sorry. I thought you heard me."
"I was just concentrating. What have you got?"
"I've been over that house as well as I can. Still working on trace. I haven't found any indications yet that anybody was there other than Mitchell and his wife."
"Well, the murderer was there, too," Calleigh pointed out. "Go back and look harder. What about Eric?"
"He got called just after lunch. H pulled him for another case that came in."
"Murder?" Horatio hadn't mentioned anything to her at lunch. He must not have heard about it yet.
"Yes. Big prestige case, apparently. It was the captain who called him, and he had to get there quick. He did ask which one of us was more involved with this evidence already, and since I had the bedroom, he left me on this one." She nodded. That made sense. She turned back to her bullets, then turned around when she realized Speed was still leaning against the door frame.
"Did you have anything else to report?"
"Not exactly, just a suggestion."
"Sure. Everybody on the team has a valuable different perspective," she replied, quoting Horatio.
"Has anybody checked out Mitchell's alibi?"
Calleigh's eyes took aim and fired. "He was out sailing all weekend, Speedle."
He flinched at the use of his complete name but pushed on. "That's what he says. Alone. I just don't think we should totally ignore looking into his story."
She took a step forward, and he backed up through the door. "He had nothing to do with this, and the evidence is going to prove it. At least, as soon as you stop chasing dead ends and get back to work so we can finish processing."
He spread his hands. "Sorry. Just a thought." He turned around and headed back for Trace, but he could feel her eyes boring into his back every step down the hall, and he sighed with relief when he turned the corner and escaped.
