Chapter One: How to Survive Survivor's Guilt

Horatio walked into the cathedral. He stopped and dipped his fingers into the holy water. He touched his index and middle finger to his forehead, sternum, and both shoulders, just as his mother had taught him as a child. He walked towards the altar, stopping before the mass of candles burning brightly. He flicked open his Florida State Police Zippo lighter and lit another one. He stood there and watched it flicker against the slight breeze as the confessional door opened and closed. He turned and entered the small room as the pervious occupant began his Hail Mary's. He sat on the uncomfortable bench and waited. The window slid open and he looked at the mesh that divided him and the Priest. He turned his head back, not wanting him to see he was crying.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," he recited, just as he always did.

"What brings you to me, son?" the Cardinal asked.

"I have committed the greatest sin there is," Horatio whispered. "I have taken the life of another."

"Horatio," the Cardinal said, "its part of your job."

"No, it wasn't a criminal," Horatio said in his pained voice.

The Cardinal sighed and rested his head against the back of his confessional.

"Horatio, we've been over this," he quietly said. "It wasn't you who killed Marisol."

"But it might as well have been me," Horatio said as the painful tears welled in his eyes. "They were after me. I was the one green lighted. But they killed Marisol instead."

"Which instead has caused you a greater pain," the Cardinal said. "But it still was not you who pulled the trigger. The Mala Noche killed Marisol."

"But it was me they were after," Horatio said, his voice cracking from emotion.

"Horatio, you can come in here every week for the rest of your life and confess to the murder of your wife, but it won't ever bring her back."

"But I was the cause of her murder. I'm more to blame then anyone."

The Cardinal sighed again, wishing he could figure out a way to ease the officer's pain.

"What was Marisol's favorite kind of flower?" he asked.

"Marigolds," Horatio whispered in response.

"Then I want you to plant eight marigold plants outside your house. And everyday when you care for these plants I want you to imagine that you're caring for your wife. That her spirit resides within these flowers. That she will flourish once again, because you're caring for her."

Horatio's hands shook. He looked down at the picture he held between his fingers. The tears finally rolled down his cheeks.

"How will that help with the pain?" he whispered.

"Because, it will give you something to care about again," the Cardinal responded. "It will give you something to love again, because that's what you need. You need something to care about again. You've allowed yourself to be tortured by Marisol's death for three years now. It's time you moved on. Having something to care for will be the first step to recovering."

Horatio sniffed and wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand.

"It won't bring her back," he whispered.

"No, it won't," the Cardinal responded, "but it will give you the chance to heal."

Horatio walked through the crime lab, trying to keep his mind off his confessional from the day before. He had done as the Cardinal said and bought eight marigold bushes and planted them outside, by his back porch. His back ached as a result and his knees were sore, but he had to admit, he felt better, if only a little.

He entered the fingerprint lab where Ryan Wolfe was diligently working hard.

"How's it going, Ryan?" Horatio inquired.

"Not too bad," Ryan said as he peeled the lift tape off a piece of broken glass. "Did you enjoy your day off, boss?"

"Yeah, I guess," Horatio quietly replied.

"What did you do?"

"Went to chapel and then planted some flowers."

"Flowers? You, Horatio Caine planted flowers?" Ryan asked, slightly amused. His phone buzzed and he tapped the screen. He read the message printed there and then closed it. He looked at the date as sorrow filled his heart. He looked back at his boss with a sad expression.

"I'm sorry, Horatio," Ryan whispered. "I didn't realize what the date was."

"It's ok," Horatio quietly said. "I didn't realize you'd remembered the day."

"Eric's one of my closest friends and you're my boss," Ryan responded. "I think it would be hard to forget that day."

"Did Eric not call you yesterday?" Horatio inquired.

"No, he has the last two years but he didn't this year," Ryan said as he stepped over to a microscope. He set a sample slide on the platform but didn't look down the scope. "I'm sorry, H," he quietly said. "I know you've been through a lot of pain with her death."

"It's alright," Horatio quietly replied. "It wasn't your fault."

"And it isn't your fault either," Ryan reassuringly said. "I know you've been beating yourself up about this for the last three years. It's not good for you."

"I know," Horatio whispered, "It's just hard to accept."

His phone rang and he looked to see Frank calling him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wolfe," he said, stepping away.

Ryan nodded his head and resumed his work.

"What's up, Frank?" Horatio said as he answered his phone.

"We got a massive explosion at a warehouse," Frank's voice explained in his ear. "Down by the shipping district."

"Alright, I'll grab someone and come check it out," Horatio said just before he hung up. He looked at his phone, the date printed in the top left corner. He sighed. He knew he needed to move on, but he just wanted to go back and do it all over again.

"No survivors," Frank explained as Horatio and Calleigh followed him through the charred building. "Bomb squad thinks the blast started somewhere in the back and worked it's way forward. Burned everything in it's path, including a few people."

They walked past blown out windows and walls dripping with water from the fire department. Charred bodies were scattered in different rooms, only a few having fallen victim to the blast. In the very back of the small building was a massive black blast pattern on the wall.

"Yes, I would say this is where the bomb was," Horatio said as he turned on his flashlight and began examining it.

"Must have been some ammo to send a building up in flames," Calleigh said as she began taking pictures. "Do you think they used an accelerant, Horatio?"

"Most likely," Horatio responded as he continued walking around the room. "Something that burned hot and fast and took to the dry wood paneling."

"Another reason never to use paneling when decorating," Calleigh light heartedly said.

Horatio chuckled lightly but stopped when he heard something. He looked through an open door and watched someone dressed in dark clothing run down a hall.

"Hey!" Horatio yelled at the person. He took off running after him, yelling for the person to stop.

He broke through a door and outside into the bright sun. He caught glimpse of someone ducking into a car and tires squealed as they drove away. He drew his gun, but when she turned and looked at him, Horatio froze.

Short dark hair whipped around her face as she sped off. He stood there motionless, unable to form any reasonable thought. She was too far away before he could make any reasonable thought. He lowered his weapon, his heart hammering in his chest. Frank and Calleigh came running out to him, flanking him on either side with their weapons drawn.

"Where did they go?" Frank asked, scanning the immediate area with his glock.

"She got away," Horatio quietly said.

"Why didn't you shoot?" Frank asked him as he begrudgingly placed his weapon back into its holster.

"I couldn't," Horatio replied.

"Well why the hell not?" Frank snapped.

"Because she looked just like Marisol," Horatio nearly whispered.

"So you let a suspect get away because she looked like your dead wife?" Stetler asked as he paced around Horatio's office.

"I was shocked," Horatio argued. "I know it wasn't her but the resemblance was too canning. I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger."

"So you let her get away?" Stetler asked again.

"Rick, I know I screwed up, but I can't change it now!" Horatio snapped at him.

"Did you at least get a license plate or model?"

Horatio sighed and turned away from him again. "No, I didn't," he quietly responded.

"Caine, I'm starting to question your abilities," Stetler said. "You've let the death of your wife affect your work far too much."

"It's not like I'm trying to do this to myself," Horatio said as he spun and stared him down. "I know my quality of work hasn't always been the greatest since Marisol died, but I can't help it. I have tried to put this past me, but it's hard, Rick. I have been giving myself a hundred-ten percent on every case since she died, because I need something else to live for."

Stetler shook his head and turned to leave.

"Step it up, Caine, or this will be your last case," he said as he left Horatio's office.

Horatio sighed and sat at his desk. He watched the people he had come to know and love as family. He opened a drawer and pulled out the business card. He read over the name and number and played the scenario in his head again and again, trying to figure out what he would actually do. He fiddled with the small piece of paper, trying to will himself to make a decision.

Horatio hung up the phone. The call hadn't been as difficult as he thought it would be. The aftermath was going to be the hardest.

He wandered up to the Human Resources Office. It took only seconds to fill out the paperwork and he was back in his lab once again. He walked through the glass corridor. He looked at everyone he had known for so long, his heart starting to hurt. He entered his office and looked around. He finally decided and sat at his desk. He fidgeted with everything on it, reorganizing it in a more sensible manner.

Ryan walked up to the door. He could tell his boss was stressed, but he didn't know why. He lightly knocked on the doorframe and Horatio looked up at him.

"Ryan," he quietly said, "Come on. Is there something you need to talk about?"

"Yeah, H," Ryan quietly responded. He shut the door and sat at the chair across from Horatio's desk.

"Something bothering you, Ryan?" Horatio inquired as he slipped the business card back into a drawer.

"Yeah," Ryan nearly whispered.

"What's on your mind? You know you can tell me anything."

Ryan sighed and leaned forward onto his elbows.

"You've been distant," he quietly started. "Ever since we had that cross jurisdiction case with the CIA last month you've had the same distant mood about you. It's like you don't want to get too close to anyone anymore. I'm worried about you, Horatio. It's as if you're no longer happy with your work. You're more stressed about cases, you miss vital details, you don't react as quickly as you should, and it's worrying me."

Ryan looked at him with sadness in his hazel eyes.

"H, what's wrong?" he whispered.

Horatio sighed and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk and his chin against his knuckles.

"I didn't think I was being that obvious," he quietly said.

"Maybe not to everyone, but Eric and I could tell," Ryan responded.

Horatio looked up at him and then back down at his desk.

"I don't know what to tell you, Ryan," he nearly whispered.

"Will you tell me the truth?" Ryan said, "Because that's really what I need to hear right now."

Horatio looked at him, torment in his deep blue eyes. He didn't want to speak the truth, though everyone would know sooner or later. But it felt so permit, just saying the words stuck to his tongue.

"You're leaving Miami Dade," Ryan whispered. "You're leaving the Crime Lab. Aren't you?"

Pain struck at his heart at the sound of Ryan's words. He didn't think hearing it would be so awful.

"Yes," he whispered, "I'm leaving the Miami Dade Crime Lab. In two weeks I start a new job at the CIA as a forensic and explosives expert."

Pain filled Ryan's eyes. The young man looked close to tears.

"Please don't, H," he whispered. "Please don't leave us. We need you."

"I'm sorry, Ryan," Horatio quietly responded. "There's nothing left for me here."

"But we need you," Ryan continued to argue in his pained voice. "You're the best there is. You're our boss, our Lieutenant, our mentor. Please don't leave us, Horatio."

"I'm sorry, Ryan," Horatio said again, standing from his chair. "I can't work here any longer. I can't walk in and pass the spot where my wife died every morning. I can't continue to let her ghost play in my head and affect my work."

Ryan looked at him with an angry expression. "But how will we ever beat them?"

"Ryan, this isn't about the Mala Noche," Horatio softly said.

"Yes it is," Ryan nearly hissed. "You think the CIA will defeat them before Miami Dade ever will."

"No, Ryan, I don't think that."

"Then prove it," Ryan whispered in an angry tone.

Horatio stood there silently, stunned with the doorknob in his hand. Ryan glared at him, his eyes still burning with anger and sorrow.

"You can't, can you?" Ryan whispered as he stormed out the door.

Horatio watched him walk away, knowing his life had just gotten a lot more complicated.