Disclaimer: Do I have to keep repeating myself? If I owned Horatio, believe me, things would be very different in his life. I'd be in it for a start. But I don't own him or anything related to CSI.

Frankie sat outside Horatio's house in her car, pondering her next move. He lived by a particularly pretty, private beach, in a long, low house that looked lovely from the outside. She had never been to his house, and wondered how she was meant to invite herself in, and then ask whether his father had beaten the hell out of him as a child. After all, she wasn't even sure that was what had happened. Maybe the scars were from something else.

She got out of her car, determined to at least talk to him. He was still up, as she could see lights on in the house. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she thought, ringing the doorbell. That he was shocked to see her was an understatement. His eyes opened wide, startled disbelief clear in them. Frankie caught her breath for the hundredth time that day as she took in his casual attire. Faded blue jeans hugged his lean frame, his work shirt creased, with the arms rolled up to the elbows. That man was far too damn good looking for his own good!

"What are you doing here?" Horatio hadn't meant to sound antagonistic, but Frankie's sudden appearance had surprised him.

"Can I come in?" He stood aside instantly, and she walked in, planning how to approach the subject. His home was exactly as she would have imagined: neat and tidy, minimalist in style, only a few splashes of colour here and there. A typical male, pride of place was given to a state-of-the-art entertainment centre, with a large plasma screen television. Atypically, she also saw a baby grand piano. She had no idea that Horatio could play. Another thing she hadn't imagined was a kidney shaped pool, which was shown off by an enormous picture window, which also allowed an uninterrupted view down to the beach. She had a vision of Horatio wet from the shower again, and shivered.

"Frankie? Are you all right? Is anything the matter?" Away from work, away from their colleagues, she noticed for the first time in a long time how attractive his voice was. Whisky smooth, and, at the moment, tinged with concern for her.

She brought herself back to the present with a shake. "May I sit down?" she asked, gesturing to a comfortable-looking leather sofa. He nodded, and joined her, leaning forward, the perfect picture of a worried friend. She studied the fine hairs on the back of his arm, golden-red as opposed to the more vibrant colour of his hair.

"Frankie? Please, something's bothering you. Is it anything I can help with?"

She looked at him, and read only concern in his eyes. Even now, in his own private sanctuary, he was still hiding behind his compassion for everyone else. She had almost never seen anything but compassion from him, compassion for everyone but himself. He never, ever let anyone in. What on earth made her think he would let her in now? She sighed, realising the futility of her mission.

"Nothing's wrong Horatio. I just, um, I just wanted you to know that, although we haven't got on very well all the time, I think of you as a friend, and I hope you think of me the same way. I hope you feel you can trust me, if you ever wanted to talk." Having said her piece, she stood to go.

Fear coursed through Horatio. He sat, frozen, wondering what had brought this on. She had found something out, that much was certain. The question was what? She had been friendly with Rick, birthday party notwithstanding, so perhaps he'd told her about Rachel Turner, or his suspicions about New York. Or maybe she had somehow found out the truth about Raymond. She was a fed after all. Or perhaps she had remembered what she had said to him nearly a week ago now: perhaps she was apologising in a different way for calling him dull. God, how he hoped it was the latter!

"Horatio?"

He came to his senses and stood up as he looked around at her, faking a calm he did not feel. It was something he was becoming all too practiced at these days. "Uh, thanks, Frankie. Of course I think of you as a friend. I do," he repeated, looking away from her, studying the floor.

Perhaps it was the wine, but he looked so forlorn and lonely that Frankie forgot he was her boss, and not her greatest fan. Acting entirely on instinct, she put her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. Surprised, Horatio hugged her back. Frankie knew it had been a bad idea, as she was instantly transported back to their dance, and the tension between them rose up again. Neither wanted to let the other go, so they stood, silently, in each others arms.

Eventually, Horatio stepped back, and Frankie noted with anger that his eyes were veiled again, his emotions buried deep. For a moment back there, she thought she was going to be allowed in, but clearly that was just a moment's weakness on Horatio's part.

She sighed. "You know, at some point Horatio, you're going to have to let omeone in. No one can live all their life on their own. No man is an island, remember? I'll see you tomorrow. Bright and early, as always," she said, grinning, and producing an answering nod from him. His eyes were distant, focused inwards, on something she couldn't see.

She shook her head sadly as she left his house. Horatio would never be easily understood, but she was beginning to get a better, deeper understanding of the extremely complex man behind her. She was now convinced that his scars came from some form of abuse from one or other parent, as he was far too practiced at hiding his pain. He'd had years of practice. That man needed someone to talk to though, and the least she could do was make sure there was someone there for him. Alexx was probably his main confidante, but there might be some things he couldn't say to her. If he needed her, she would be there. God knows, that man needed a friend more than anyone else she'd ever seen.