A/N: I lied about how many WIPs I have. I actually started two more after I posted that, so now the number is up to six, including this one. I'm a glutton for punishment. And that doesn't include the original fiction that I've started. Thankfully, though, there's only one of those that's an active WIP, the others are just. . languishing for lack of plot and inspiration. What can I say? I need a powerful muse. Disclaimers in full force and effect – I own nothing but the plot and the original characters, all else belongs to Bruckheimer. I apologize for the long delay, and one of them was because of the aforementioned WIPs, but the other was because the site was being an absolute bugger for the last 5 days and wouldn't let me upload any documents at all. I'm so very sorry. I hope the wait was worth it.

Twelve

The sky was still dark when Tim shook Calleigh awake, with no hint of sunrise in the distance. He'd opened the curtains blocking the window and the reflection from the full moon still danced on the dark ocean. Calleigh sat up slowly, fighting the urge to ignore him and snuggle back under the blankets. He was walking around in just his jeans and a tee-shirt, looking around for his dress shirt. "Cal, have you seen my shirt?"

He stopped speaking when a huge yawn, followed by an all over body stretch shook the sleep from Calleigh's body. She's got my shirt on. . . Holy shit.

A sheepish look broke over her features and she gave him a sleepy smile. Tim figured she had no clue what that look was doing to him, because if she did it again, he'd snap. "Sorry. I needed something to sleep in that was more comfortable than my stuff. You don't mind, do you?"

Tim shook his head, trying to clear his throat and not squawk like a teenager when he finally answered her. "No, it's fine. Do you wanna keep it on?"

Calleigh got to her feet and all rational thought fled. The dark blue dress shirt covered her from her shoulders almost down to her knees, but that wasn't why his brain was fried. It was the knowledge that underneath his shirt she was naked. There was nothing between her skin and his clothing. Just the hint of her breast was visible when she moved and Tim found his eyes riveted on the sight. He couldn't breathe. His chest constricted and he could feel the electricity swirling in the room. Tim took a step closer, his fingers itching to touch her.

"You won't mind?"

Mind? Why on earth would I mind if you wanna to wear my shirt? "Ah. No. It's fine." Oh yeah, it's damn fine with me if you wanna wear my shirt, Cal. Course it's gonna make it damn hard for me to look at you.

Before he could start babbling like a hormone-crazed teen, Tim turned away, moving back toward his bed. He busied himself with getting his boots back on, surreptitiously stealing looks at Calleigh while she gathered up her clothes and headed off for the bathroom. She bent over, the tail end of his shirt creeping up her thigh and Tim nearly fell over. Holy . . . .

Tim breathed a deep sigh of relief when she finally closed the bathroom door behind her. His head dropped down, his fingers digging into his hair. His thoughts were stuck on images of Calleigh wearing nothing but his shirt, golden hair splayed out over mussed sheets. Sheets they'd mussed up together. Okay, Tim, get a hold of yourself, coz you just don't know if that's how she feels about you. . . so just get a grip.

He must have been lost in thought for a while, because Calleigh emerged fully dressed, his shirt on over her clothes. "You ready to go?"

"Ready as I'm ever gonna be. Can we get some caffeine before we head out?" Calleigh's fingers rolled the hem of his shirt nervously, the only outward sign that she might be agitated about something.

"Yeah, sure. That's a good idea." He couldn't look at her, focusing instead on a spot just over her shoulder.

She glanced at him shyly, which was something he wasn't prepared for. There was usually nothing reticent about Calleigh, but he had to admit, he liked the idea of her shyness. "Is that place we had dinner at open for breakfast?"

"Ah, yeah it is. But not for another fifteen minutes or so."

"Well, by the time we get there, it should be okay. Do we have time to get something to eat, too, or . . ?"

By the look on his face, Calleigh could tell he wasn't thrilled by the idea of a sit-down breakfast, but obviously her question had given him something to think about.

"We have a little bit of time. It's early." Tim checked his watch, wincing at the hour.

"Just what time is it?" Calleigh hadn't glanced at a clock, hadn't needed to, since she could pretty much tell it was before five in the morning, given the color of the sky.

Not daring to look at her, he mumbled. "About four fifteen."

"Tim! You woke me up at four in the morning and you aren't going to feed me?" Her outrage was palpable and he winced, knowing if he didn't feed her now, the anger she should have directed at him hours ago would surface. No doubt she'd level all sorts of curses at him and he knew he deserved every last one.

He turned then to look at her, an apology on his lips, which mollified her only a little. "C'mon, Cal, I'll feed you."

That statement went a long way toward changing Calleigh's mood, but she didn't smile brightly until the first cup of tea was placed in front of her.

Tim refused to admit her smiles lightened his dour mood. He shook his head at himself. At the rate he was refusing to think about Calleigh, he'd soon have nothing to think about at all.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

In the hours since coming to her room, Hank had done nothing more than hold her in his arms, letting her rest peacefully. He hadn't pushed her for anything more, knowing how terribly harsh El Comadreja had treated her – how brutal he'd been. His hands had traced the blue of her veins over and over, soothing strain and worry lines from her brow. He'd teased and sprung the wild curls on her head, smiling when strands wound themselves around his wrist and fingers.

She slept, unaware of his intense scrutiny, unmindful of his staring or the thoughts in his head. The rhythm of her breathing fascinated him, the way her curls corkscrewed about, how the moonlight played upon her skin.

Hank refused to think about the consequences of his actions and what might come of this. This moment – this night – was a gift. Something unexpected, unlooked for, and yet despite all that, completely welcome.

The baby stirred, moving restlessly in her sleep, letting out petal soft gurgles. She'd been asleep when he entered the room, untouched by the worries troubling her mother. Of all of them, she was the precious one, the truly innocent. The one worth the sacrifice nearly three years of undercover work.

He didn't even know her name. Gonsalvo called her Infanta, which was nothing more than a title. Listening to her soft, mewling cries, Hank wondered if her mother had given her a name; one she didn't share.

Sorcha fussed in his arms, her unconscious mind reacting to her child's distress. He slid easily from the bed, crooning softly as he gently lifted the tiny baby from her basket. Struggling to sit, Sorcha held out her hands, her sleepy eyes dark with sleepy worry.

Once in her mother's arms, the squalling ceased, only to be replaced with snuffling and kittenish whimpers. Her small face rooted for her mother's breast, arms and legs pumping madly. Without skipping a beat or caring of his presence, Sorcha opened the buttons of her sleep shirt. A brief glance of a dusky nipple was blocked by the baby's head and Hank released a breath he wasn't aware of holding.

He couldn't look away, couldn't avert his eyes from the sight before him. She was beautiful, sleep tousled and intent on the baby in her arms. Hank leaned back, resting his shoulders against the wall behind him, staying out of Sorcha's direct line of sight.

Sorcha was aware of him, his eyes on her, following her every movement. It was hard to pretend indifference. Hard to hold back that part of herself that was bold, not frightened and took chances.

He didn't dare make a wrong move here, there was far too much at stake for all of them. The infant burping heartily in her mother's arms was the one who would suffer the most, if he wasn't careful.

For her, he had to be. For both of them.

Hank watched her, his eyes trained on the soft swell of her breast and began speaking. "You have to make a choice. I can't make it for you."

Without asking him to elaborate, Sorcha knew exactly what he was saying. She didn't want to be the one to make the decision, though she knew she had too. Closing her eyes against sudden tears, she nodded once. "If we have to. . . if I have to. Then so be it. Mairin must be safe."

His eyes closed over suddenly blurry vision. He had a name now, to go with that sweet baby face.

She wasn't lying earlier, when she said she trusted him. Now he had to live up to her trust and do what was right for both of them. Knowing, all the while, that he'd never be able to see either of them again. That in choosing to help Sorcha, Hank was more than likely signing his own life away. There are worse things to die for. . . .

Her head turned to look at him, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. "If it keeps her safe and away from him, it's for the better. I can't protect her."

He nodded once, not saying anything further. Instead his feet led him to her side, and before she could hesitate or push him away, Hank leaned in and kissed her. "I promise I'll try to get you both home."

Sorcha clutched at him with her free hand, her fingernails digging into his hard bicep. "I know." She stared into his eyes, and he reached up to wipe away her tears. A shudder tore through her and she collapsed bonelessly in his arms, the emotional upheaval finally sinking in. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't." He couldn't help the words from rumbling out of his mouth.

She shook her head and a bitter laugh escaped from her. "You are the only one I can trust. You aren't like him. You don't belong here anymore than I do." She paused, and he could almost see her trying to choose her words carefully. Her voice dropped to a bare whisper, just a hint of sound against his chest. "I know you. Hector is not your name, though it is close. And you are different from the others. You kill because you must, not because you enjoy it."

He kept his silence, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her words. He didn't dare. The less she actually knew, the less chance of her giving him up when – no, if – something were to happen. "I'll keep your secrets, Lieutenant, just as you keep mine."

That startled him, though he fought against the sudden jump of his heart. She felt it, though, since she was wrapped so tightly in his arms. He looked down at her, and her smile was just as bitter as her laugh had been. "Perhaps it's not the right title. . . Though I am close, I will not ask."

"Better you don't." He moved away from her then, sliding off the bed and back toward the door. "He'll be back soon."

But she was shaking her head, her strange eyes fixed on something other than him. "No, he won't. We have some time."

He knew better than to interrupt when she was having a vision, waiting until she finished speaking. "He's away. Two men and," she stopped, closing her eyes against the unseen sights before them, forcing away what her mind had witnessed. "He's being . . . entertained."

By that, Hank knew he was having sex with someone. Or more than one someone, and it would be hours, if not days before he returned. That was fine with him, but he needed to put some distance between the two of them. Otherwise he'd be back in that bed with her.

"I'm going to fix breakfast."

And with that, he was gone.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Calleigh glanced over to her left, resting her head in the middle of Tim's back and watched the sun creep over the ocean. Instead of getting back on I-95, Tim had opted to take the less traveled old Florida Highway, hoping there would be less traffic. So far his hunch had paid off, and they were making great time, even with the leisurely breakfast they'd had. Green and pink streaked the sky and Calleigh's breath caught in her throat. She nudged Tim's side, indicating to him she wanted to stop.

Tim edged the Ducati off the road onto the shoulder, wondering why Calliegh had nudged him. Hopping off, she pulled off the helmet and tugged on his arm. "C'mon, Speed."

"Where are we going?" He followed her reluctantly, unsure about her motives. They were in a deserted section of IA, nothing but the ocean stretched out before them and behind them, closer to land, marsh and few signs of civilization. "Cal? What are we doing?"

Spying the small dune covered with tufts of beach heather and other plant life she didn't recognize, Calleigh said over her shoulder, "We're gonna watch."

She caught the grimace out of the corner of her eye and turned to face him, her hands on her hips and a glint in her eyes that immediately had him on edge. "Timothy Speedle, you need to just lighten up and let go every once in a while. I promise this won't take long at all."

Choosing to ignore her statement about him needing to let things go, Tim focused on the second part of her statement. "What's not going to take long?"

Once more she grabbed his arm, dragging him forward to stand on the top of the dune. She sat down, tugging on his pants leg for him to do the same. "Look."

Her arm stretched out toward the rising sun, a soft lemon yellow glow just peeking over the horizon, which was a pale blue, the greens and pinks streaking the sky, reaching up pale fingers into the still dark blue above them. A slight breeze blew toward them, ruffling their shirts and sending Calliegh's hair into a spindrift around them. A dazzling smile crossed her features and Tim found himself returning her grin. Her good mood was too infectious to resist and he didn't even bother fooling himself about why he enjoyed her company.

Without thinking too hard about it, or the implications of his actions, Tim put his arm around her, hugging her against his side. Calleigh sighed as she snuggled close and wrapped her own arm around his waist.

Neither one of them spoke again until the sun cleared the horizon. Tim didn't want to be the bad guy, since he was enjoying this stolen moment with her so much, but if they didn't make good time, they were going to be very late getting into work. He knew he had a complete change of clothes in his locker, but he seriously doubted Calleigh did. In a reflex movement, Tim leaned into her and brushed a kiss against her temple. "C'mon Cal, we have to go."

She froze at the contact, her heartbeat accelerating and her breathing hitching a bit. Did he just? He did. . . . Calleigh closed her eyes, willing away the sudden case of nerves that struck. I'm not gonna react. I'm not. . .

Tim also froze, realizing a half second after he finished speaking what he'd just done.