A/N: Thanks for all the feedback. I'll try to get the chapters up quickly. It's this last half of the story that I love especially, anyway. To all advocates of H/C harmony, I totally agree with you, but H and C don't, at least not yet. I'm not quite done torturing them.
(H/C)
"Too many hearts have been broken
Failing to trust what they feel.
Trust isn't something that's spoken,
And love's never wrong when it's real."
Dan Fogelberg, "Believe in Me"
(H/C)
Calleigh stayed in the gun vault for a good half hour, needlessly sorting the weapons there, trying to draw some comfort from them. It didn't work. Her precious firearms all seemed cold and impersonal. She really expected Horatio to come after her when she stalked off, but he didn't, which illogically made her even more mad at him. She finally emerged to return to the shooting range, blowing targets into absolute confetti. Her thoughts echoed like gunfire.
Horatio. She couldn't believe he would question her commitment to him. It even knocked Winslow's failure into a distant second place. In all her life, there had only been two men who stood out as the embodiment of integrity, two men she had known she could count on in an unreliable world. And now, within one day, they had both failed her. The bull's-eye disintegrated, leaving her nothing to aim at, and she continued shooting anyway.
Finally, she stopped, only because she had gone through all the considerable ammunition she had brought along with her. The target range looked like a crime scene. Slowly, she started gathering casings, and as she reached for one that had rolled into a corner, she spotted her watch. It was after 5:00. They needed to be on the way to pick up Rosalind, unless they wanted to incur more late charges from day care. She hurriedly put things back into the illusion of order, hesitating as she saw the file he had left her on the table. She left it there. Tomorrow would be soon enough. She almost wished the judge or his lawyers would call tonight, just so she could have the exquisite pleasure of ripping someone apart.
On leaving Ballistics, she turned for Horatio's office, unwillingly for once. They had both come in his Hummer this morning. Unless she called a taxi, she would be leaving the same way, and Rosalind's car seat was in it. Besides, as a wife and mother, she didn't have the luxury in life any longer of storming off or running away like a child. She had made a commitment, and she would keep it, although the line "till death do us part" was suggesting various attractive interpretations.
Horatio was sitting at his desk with Winslow's file in front of him, but it hadn't been opened. Instead, he was resting his head in both of his hands, and the eloquent slump of his shoulders spoke volumes. Well, if he was feeling guilty, it served him right. "It's time to go get Rosalind," she said briskly. "Unless you want to just give me the keys and take a cab yourself later. I'm leaving."
He raised his head, fixing dull eyes on her. All of their usual sparkle was missing. "No, I'll come, too." He stood up and considered the file in front of him, then picked it up. "I think I'll take this with me, though. Catch up on all the details tonight after Rosalind goes to bed."
"Of course, if there's nothing else you need to do at home," she snapped. She'd hoped he would be a little more willing to talk to her once they weren't in public.
She saw the hurt flare up briefly in his eyes before he hid it. She had always been a good shot. She would have regretted it if he had been ready to discuss his decision and apologize to her, but he only looked down quickly, analyzing his shoes. In stiff silence, they left CSI together.
(H/C)
By unspoken agreement, they both tried to put on a front of normalcy for Rosalind. Horatio was as helpful as always in cooking, and dinner conversation was animated, if forced. Rosalind was looking at them both oddly by the end of the meal, though.
"Piano, Dada," she suggested as Horatio lifted her down onto the floor.
"I don't really feel like . . .well, okay, Angel. As soon as I help your mother load the dishwasher."
"I can get it, Horatio, thanks. Go ahead and play for her." Calleigh started cleaning off the table, not looking at him.
He settled onto the bench with Rosalind in his lap, absolutely motionless so she wouldn't interfere. She adored music and wouldn't have dreamed of disrupting it. Once he started playing, though, his mood took control of his fingers, and Calleigh realized that he was playing Dan Fogelberg's old song "Believe in Me."
Exactly, she thought. Trust isn't something that's spoken. But why don't you listen to it, Horatio, instead of just playing it. You're the one who needs to get the message. She fought back tears again and again won the battle.
After the music, Horatio read a book to Rosalind and then kissed her goodnight. Calleigh took her daughter down the hall, got her ready for bed, and rocked her to sleep. After tucking her in, she left the nursery, carefully closing the door behind her, and headed down the hall with determination. Enough for the facade. Now, it was time for some heart-to-heart marital conversation.
Horatio was at the kitchen table and had just opened Winslow's file. Calleigh shut it firmly and sat down across from him. "We need to talk," she said.
His eyes remained glued to the file, not meeting hers. "I know," he admitted. "But not now, Calleigh."
Her reasonable intentions flew out the window. "When do you suggest? Later, in front of Rosalind? In front of CSI? Out on the street? Do tell me when you want to talk, so I can be sure to schedule it."
He flinched. "I can't."
"Horatio, listen to yourself. We've had our share of fights in this marriage, anybody does, but when something involves both of us, even if we disagree, we don't just refuse to talk about it. I'm your wife. You owe me that."
He finally looked at her, and there was naked appeal in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Cal, but I just can't talk about this right now."
Furious, she stood up and reopened his file. "Then by all means, don't let me keep you from what you'd rather be doing. I'll be in the bedroom. Alone, and Winslow's safe in jail, so you can set your mind at rest for tonight." She stalked out and only barely kept herself from slamming the bedroom door behind her. Might wake up Rosalind, which she definitely didn't want to do at the moment. She closed the door gently, then threw herself on their bed and finally, though silently, let herself cry.
(H/C)
Breakfast was an ordeal of acting. "Here's the butter, Horatio." You didn't even come to bed until 2:00 a.m. If you cared about my feelings, you would have followed me earlier.
"Thank you, Calleigh." His thoughts were closed, and for once, she couldn't read them.
"Hurry up, Rosalind. We don't want to be late." Not that work is going to be much better today.
"Yes, we need to get to work. I've got to get Winslow's case solved."
Of course, you could just leave it to me, Horatio. You would, if you trusted me. "Let me wipe your fingers off, Rosalind."
Rosalind looked from one of them to the other. "Good morning?" she asked, managing to make it a question.
"Good morning, Angel," they replied in stiff unison, like robots. A model family, enjoying breakfast together.
(H/C)
After entering Ballistics, Calleigh stared at the judge's file, waiting for her. First, she decided, she would go see Winslow. She wanted to apologize for walking out yesterday without listening to his story, and she especially wanted to make sure he realized that it wasn't her decision to go off his case. She didn't want him to think she had just abandoned him to his fate in disgust.
She marched into the holding cells complex at police HQ. "Which cell is Winslow Mitchell in, please?" she asked the security guard at the desk as she flashed her badge. "I need to see him."
He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Caine, but you aren't allowed to visit the prisoner."
She stared at him. "What?"
"Your name has been placed on the forbidden list for Mr. Mitchell. I'm sorry." The guard eyed her growing fury and unobtrusively brushed his hand against his gun and night stick, making sure he could defend himself if needed.
It wasn't. She wheeled abruptly, heading for the door. "I'm going to kill him."
The guard looked after her and breathed a sigh of relief. Whomever she was heading off to kill, at least he didn't have to deal with her. He'd seen hardened criminals who looked less dangerous than the petite wildcat who had just left.
(H/C)
Horatio was on the phone when Calleigh stormed in. She slammed the office door, then stopped in front of his desk and fixed him with a laser glare. "Um, excuse me, Captain, I have to go. I assure you, this investigation isn't going to suffer at all for the change." He hung up and raised an eyebrow at her. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? How dare you ask me at the moment what's wrong? What the hell do you think you're doing, Horatio Caine?" She leaned over the desk, and he actually pulled back from her.
"Calleigh, I have no idea – acutely – what you're talking about. If this is just about me pulling you from the case . . ."
"How dare you put a block on me seeing Winslow at the holding cells?"
Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he spent a few seconds scrambling for words, obviously dodging around the real reason. "You're not on his case anymore, Calleigh. You haven't got any reason to see him, not in the cells, anyway."
"I don't believe this. Do you think we'd be committing adultery right in front of the security guards? I thought you were being paranoid enough last night, but this is even worse. He's just a friend, Horatio. I have a right to my friends."
He shut down, barriers complete with concertina wire clicking into place. "I told you last night, Calleigh, I can't talk about this with you. I'm sorry."
A knock sounded at the office door, and both of them looked to see Speed standing outside. "Just a minute," Calleigh called. She turned back to Horatio and lowered her voice. "Horatio, I want you to promise me something – for whatever that's worth." That hit him harder than anything yet, and she was glad of it. "Promise me that you will honestly make an effort on this investigation to find out the truth and won't just use it as an excuse to get Winslow out of the way. Don't blame him for your suspicions; he hasn't done anything. Neither have I."
His wounded blue eyes met hers. "I promise you I'll give it everything I have. Do the same on the judge, okay? It is a big case. I wouldn't give it to you unless I trusted you."
She turned on her heel. "If you trusted me, you wouldn't do a lot of things you've done in the last day. But I'll do my job. And would you give Winslow a message that . . . no, actually, I'll send it by messenger. That way, I'll make sure it gets delivered." She opened the door and stalked out, nearly knocking over Speed.
Speed entered the office. "She's mad about going off the case, huh?"
"That's an understatement," Horatio replied.
"It's best, though. You didn't work with her on this one, H. She was wearing blinders." He sat down in front of the desk. "You wanted to see me?"
"Right. I spent several hours last night looking through the file, but I want to hear everything from you. Start at the beginning." With an effort, Horatio forced himself to focus – at least partially - on the case.
(H/C)
Calleigh reluctantly stared at the judge's file. She didn't want to open it. That would be the final admission that she was irrevocably off Winslow's case. She eyed the leap, and Eric, entering Ballistics, pushed her over. "Calleigh, H said I'm working with you now on this judge's wife. Want to hear a recap so far?"
She pushed the closed file away. "Sure. Start at the beginning." With an effort, Calleigh forced herself to focus – at least partially – on the case.
(H/C)
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity. Calleigh got the pleasure of talking to and absolutely annihilating the judge's campaign manager. The judge had spent the night before the murder out with his lover, and he had come in at mid morning to find his wife shot dead in their bed. The mistress confirmed the story but with a shiftiness about her that Eric and Calleigh both thought rang false. Calleigh got a subpoena for bank accounts, both the judge's and the mistress's, looking for a payoff, while Eric worked on processing the evidence from the house. Adele was doing the legwork, talking to people in the neighborhood. One thought she had heard a car backfire at 3:00 a.m. Alexx's post gave TOD as right around 3:00 a.m.
Calleigh stared at the bank account records on the screen, but she kept finding her mind slipping away from them. How could Horatio have suddenly turned into such a paranoid controller? It just didn't make sense. She wasn't like the judge, whose whole attitude was that his marriage vows had merely been a business deal, an arrangement for a suitable companion to appear with him in pictures and give him in his ambitions a sense of being a "family man." Talking to him almost physically made her sick. Her parting shot in the interview, which Eric said later he wished he had had on tape, was, "Judge, did you take vows at your wedding?"
"Of course," he replied condescendingly.
"They must have been interesting ones." She had turned away from his lawyer's flurry of objections and walked out of the interview room.
Vows. She had never given Horatio any reason to mistrust her, and her own vows had included the part about "forsaking all others." She'd meant it, too, and she'd fulfilled it. Why was he suddenly going off the deep end just because Winslow Mitchell had come back into her life?
Her radar, unaware that she was mad at him, was still functioning at full efficiency, and she felt Horatio enter the computer room before he spoke. She turned and raised an eyebrow, not getting up. "What do you want?" He looked absolutely awful, almost physically sick himself. She remembered for the first time today that he had been up studying that file – presumably – until 2:00 a.m., and he hadn't slept soundly even after he made it to bed. Unconsciously, she softened her tone. "What is it, Horatio?"
"It's time to go get Rosalind. Do you want to get her, or should I?" They had brought separate vehicles that morning.
"I'll do it."
"I'll start cooking, then. I'll try to have it ready for you."
"Thank you." It might have been a conversation between strangers. Calleigh was having to fight back the questions she wanted to ask, but she knew by now that there was no point. He wasn't going to talk to her.
"Productive day?" he asked, looking past her to the paperwork on the judge's case and the computer screen.
"Pretty much. I got to make the judge and his campaign manager both look like fools."
The ghost of his smile haunted his lips briefly. "Wish I'd been there."
"You could have," she reminded him. "It was your case."
He locked up instantly on her. "I'll see you at home," he said, turning away.
"Horatio!" He stopped short at the appeal in her voice, but his eyes, his whole posture warned her. Don't ask, they said. Please don't ask.
Calleigh sighed. "Can you at least give me an update on Winslow's case?"
He jumped at that like a drowning man latching onto a life preserver. "Winslow gave me his final version of Sunday night. He had been warned in an anonymous note that his wife was cheating on him with his best friend and that they met routinely on Sunday nights when he was out of town – which he was a good bit. He often went sailing on the weekends and didn't get back until Monday. He had a Tuesday through Saturday work schedule, usually, although he was on vacation at the moment. This note suggested that he come back surreptitiously late Sunday, and he'd see for himself. He tore the note up and threw it away. I've been searching the trash for it; no luck so far. He says he came in Sunday night to a strange port, rented a car that his wife wouldn't recognize, then parked it a few blocks away, just to make sure. But then, he says, he couldn't actually make himself go to his house to spy on her. He couldn't face knowing the fact, and he wanted to trust her. So he paced around for a while, as Mrs. Sampson noted, then went back to his rental car and back to his boat. He says he never went up to the house. Tox tests from Alexx show that the wife had been heavily sedated. She had had sex not too long before her death, so the cheating story is quite possibly true. The time table from the other marina is awfully tight for Winslow to have come in, driven to his house, made love to her, drugged her, had the drug take effect, and then killed her and gotten back. It would be nearly impossible. The gun on the boat is the murder weapon. No prints at all on it. The shell-making equipment doesn't have prints on it, either, so far. Speed is processing every nook and crevice he can find of things from that boat, looking for fingerprints other than Winslow's. He liked sailing alone and didn't usually have friends on the boat. He didn't mention any of this at first because he felt guilty; if he had gone up to the house, he might have met the killer. Since he didn't go there, he didn't think it was relevant, and he didn't want to brand her as a cheater after her death. We're looking for the handgun, too. Even if it wasn't the murder weapon, its user was involved. I've been searching the dumpsters and drains in the neighborhood. Tripp is continuing to talk to everyone. The police logs confirm Mrs. Sampson's story that there were noise complaints in that neighborhood late on almost every weekend night. It's so consistent that we think the killer knew this and used that opportunity to kill her when the shot wouldn't be as noticeable in all the heavy bass booming and cars. If someone did hear it, they'd probably put it down to a backfire. The handgun was probably silenced, but the police call fits right in with the timeline for the shotgun. The perp knows this neighborhood, knows Winslow, sent that note, and probably was Mrs. Mitchell's lover. Winslow's best friend checks out and swears he never had a relationship with the wife."
Calleigh had been absorbing all this silently. "I missed that," she said once he stopped. "I wasn't even tying the noise comments into the possible time of death. It would explain the shotgun not being heard."
He nodded. "Anyway, it's a good day's work. I'll do more paperwork on it tonight."
The moment of mutual focus on the case shattered. He didn't intend to talk to her tonight, either. Obviously, he had no objection to her knowing the latest on Winslow's case. It was just Winslow himself he was keeping her from. She turned her back on him so he wouldn't see the threatening tears before she could gain control of them. "I'll shut down here and pick up Rosalind. Go on."
He stood there for a moment, eying her back, hearing the barely held tears in her voice. With a sigh, he turned away.
