A/n: And then this chapter ends up being the shortest, go figure. Working without a definite outline/timeline is kind of frightening, not knowing where I'm going next…ah, oh well.

Chapter 4: Extinguished Flame

What I meant to say was Horatio and Marisol had an extremely chaste relationship. He was afraid to touch her, as a matter of fact, until after three months of dating they abruptly decided to have a baby together.

Well, it was more like Marisol made leading statements and activated his "damsel in distress" signal, but same difference. It's the same signal that prevented him from actively trying to dissuade her from ending her chemo treatments when she explained that "every cycle hurt her chances of conceiving." Right there, he really should have interjected something along the lines of "Yes, but every cycle also DELAYS YOUR DEATH, so I'd call that an even trade-off." However, under the power of the Hypnotic Helpless Doe Eyes, he merely caved and went along with her decision.

God – is it okay to reveal Your role here? Just checking – promptly punched in Marisol's own Catholic complex about illegitimate children, prodding her to ask Horatio if they could get married.

Eric promptly pitched a hissy fit, which would seem a little unreasonable since he'd already assured them he had no problem with them dating if it made her happy, but then again the guy's never been the brightest bulb when it comes to relationships. I mean, he used to think he had a shot with Calleigh. I eventually had to disabuse him of that notion. He claims he got injured breaking up an underground chop-shop, but really…

Sorry, digression.

So they got married at the courthouse. Arguably due to lack of time, but that was a pretty flimsy excuse if you ask me. Why were they so sure there was no time to spare when in the blink of an eye, she went into remission? In fact, the more cynical observers might even make claims that Marisol was never actually sick in the first place, but merely had her eye on those fistfuls of hundreds he routinely hands out.

Lucky thing I'm not that cynical. I can afford to be objective, and admit how tragic it was that their marriage didn't even last the week.

By this point, the Noches had gotten sick of the way bullets kept apparently bouncing right off the red-headed lieutenant, so they decided to change their policy and green-light members of his family instead, namely by shooting Marisol. To make it even more tragic, she was not killed outright but severely wounded, in such a way that if not for a delay in reaching the hospital, she might have lived. My favorite part of this story is the way he told her to "hang in there" in the ambulance …I am becoming increasingly suspicious that the man grew up with a poster of a kitten clinging to a tree branch taped to his bedroom door.

Sorry. Really, I'm going to practice not digressing.

It was touch-and-go, but in the end, there was too much damage, and she lived just long enough to say goodbye as he sat beside her. And right there - at the exact moment she drew her last breath – is the point where H officially snapped. He didn't do anything drastic like start screaming or smashing mirrors, but his spiraling loss of sanity became apparent when he began throwing suspects in car trunks, driving them to remote locations and beating the crap out of them, barely bothering to come up with a cover story. An even bigger indicator? He misplaced his sunglasses on two separate occasions and didn't notice for hours. Finally, there was the way in which he was nearly as absent from the federal swoop through the lab as Stetler was, leaving Calleigh to do most of the interventions.

H never misses an opportunity to insult federal agents and/or threaten them with death.

Speaking of which, according to everyone's favorite spooky FBI agent (no, not Mulder), under the Amendment of The Greater Good, the man responsible for Marisol's death (Antonio Riaz, for clarification purposes) got sent back to Brazil basically scot-free. After vowing never to love again, Horatio stormed off after him with Eric in tow, all "laws & jurisdiction be damned, WE WANT REVENGE." You know, in retrospect, where was this love when I got shot? All H did in the immediate wake of my death was kick around a few suspects, and Eric merely drowned his sorrows in anonymous women. I think I might be a little bitter now. But I'll carry on.

I'll carry on over there. Way over there. where Marisol won't find me, because the look in her eyes suggests that it would be in my best interest to run – speedily - in the opposite direction. Really, I meant "hypnotic doe eyes" in the nicest possible way…

Now, to retell the year from the viewpoint of the southern hemisphere.