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It had been 36 hours since the attempt on Horatio's life and the stress of the situation was starting to take its toll on Calleigh. She had run herself ragged juggling the running of the lab and guarding Horatio. She was thankful that she had a team she could rely on, only returning to the lab briefly to ensure things were running smoothly. The team were coping surprisingly well being three members down, it seemed to be a slow week crime-wise in Miami and for once Calleigh was grateful for that. After the foiled hit Calleigh had requested that Frank only place his best and most trusted officers outside Horatio's room, the whole ICU was under heavy guard but for now all remained quiet.

The ordeal had taken a lot out of Horatio, already weakened by his head injury and frustrated by his lack of memories he began to withdraw into himself. It occurred to her that it was another typically Horatio characteristic and she took hope from it. She took a deep breath and steeled herself before she entered his room, she found him moving his bandaged head from side to side as he muttered restlessly.

His arms twitched as he balled his hands into fists, "Lori" he mumbled, his voice was still hoarse even though the oxygen mask had been removed yesterday and replaced with a nasal cannula. His movements became stiffer and more erratic, just as she was about to wake him his eyes flew open.

He gasped as he attempted to draw more air into his overworked lungs, the monitors beside the bed an audible clue to his distress. He looked wildly around the room until his eyes fell on her. For the first time since he woke from his coma he could see clearly. She was even more beautiful than he had imagined, her gorgeous face framed by silky blonde hair was a welcome sight after his terrible dream.

"Hey there. You ok?" she asked as he began to get his breathing back under control. He smiled his thanks as she adjusted the head of his bed slightly and handed him a cup and straw. He held on to it with shaky hands but took some satisfaction from the fact that he had managed to help himself and was no longer relying on other people to do it for him.

He looked at her, taking his time to commit her image to memory lest he not remember her when he woke next. "Calleigh." he croaked as he took another sip from the cup and handed it back to her.

"Horatio? You remember me?" she asked excitedly.

He gave her a pained smile, "No, sorry. I recognised the voice; you've been here every day since I woke up. It's nice to put a beautiful face to the voice though." He gave her a shy smile.

Try as she might she couldn't help but feel bitterly disappointed, for a moment she hoped his memory had returned. Reality came crashing back down on her; he still had no idea who she was.

He could see she was upset, he reached a hand out to her and gave it a light squeeze. "I'm sorry, I really wish I could remember you." He felt bad for upsetting her, he realised that even though he didn't know this woman he would have done anything for her. She had a hold on his heart yet he didn't know why.

"You will." she told him, willing it to be true. She watched him as his eyelids began to droop; she stroked circles on his hand with her thumb as the rhythmic motion sent him further towards the darkness once more. When she was satisfied that he was asleep she gently placed his arm on his chest and leant back in her chair, content to watch him sleep.

She realised that she too must have dozed off as she came awake with a start, the sound of the door opening putting her on full alert. Afraid that the security had been breached she immediately reached for the gun on her hip, she aimed it squarely at the door, fully prepared to shoot dead the next person who tried to harm Horatio.

"Jeez, lady. Do you greet everyone like that?" she heard the gritty New York accent; she lowered her gun when she saw Eric standing in the doorway behind the other man. The ageing heavy-set man walked further into the room, his eyes widened in shock when he saw the occupant of the bed. "No, it can't be." he whispered dumbfounded.

"You must be Andy Sipowicz."

He paid her little attention, his gaze fixed on the man lying in the bed. He walked closer to him to get a better look. Shaking his head in disbelief he sighed deeply, he thought he had come to terms with his friend's betrayal, the hurt dead and buried along with his partner. Seeing him in the flesh for the first time in nearly twenty years was beginning to open up the wounds that he had hoped were long-healed.

He was sure he heard voices, the sweet melodic tone of his southern belle and a voice that stirred memories deep within him. The gruff New York tone was unmistakable; with great effort he opened his eyes. He couldn't help the small groan that emanated from deep inside him; soon three sets of eyes were boring into him. Attempting to shift up in his bed he moaned as he pain shot through his head, Calleigh helped adjust his position and he smiled at her gratefully. His eyes rested on Andy, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief that someone who he knew was finally here. "Andy, I've got no idea how I ended up here. You've got to help me," He looked at his partner hopefully; his face fell when he saw the scowl on the other man's face, "I don't understand, what's going on?"

He wasn't sure what to feel, relief that his old partner was still alive or fury for the things he had put him through. He felt his hackles rise as his partner acted as if nothing had happened, how could he forget what he put them all through? "I came here because I wanted to see if it was true." The red head looked at him puzzled. Andy's gaze travelled to Horatio's bare chest, his eyes fell upon the scar on the left side of his abdomen just below his ribs. If he was in any doubt before he couldn't deny now that the man lying in the bed and his old partner were one and the same person. Sure, he had looked like John in the photo Eric showed him, time had aged the face that he remembered. 18 years ago he looked more youthful but then didn't everyone? The man had the same red hair and striking blue eyes that John had and the splenectomy scar only served to reiterate what he hoped would not be true. Memories of the last time he visited his partner in hospital came flooding back to him.

Flashback. New York 1993:

Andy walked through the hallways of Lennox Hill hospital, grimacing at the anaesthetic odour that seemed to seep from every corner of the building. He had been woken from his slumber by Lieutenant Fancy; at first the words didn't seem to make sense. It took a while for his sleep-addled brain to kick into gear. He had grabbed his wallet and keys and rushed straight to the hospital.

He stood outside John's room as a nurse tended to him, his eyes were closed and he looked to be asleep. "He'll be groggy at best for the next four to six hours," the doctor had told him before he left for his ward rounds. He winced at the sight of him, covered head to toe in bruises. Most of his face was swollen and blackened, his eyes travelled further down to his abdomen which was covered in bruises too. The doctor had told him that his partner had three cracked ribs and a moderate concussion, the most severe injury was to his spleen which had been removed surgically.

He walked into the room quietly, pulling a face and shaking his head at himself when it occurred to him that John was probably so full up with morphine he wouldn't have heard a bomb go off even if he was lying next to it. He had always seen his partner as young and vital, someone who was constantly on the go or at least fiddling with something in his hands. Seeing him lying there so still unnerved him, looking so bruised and battered he couldn't imagine the pain his friend would be in when he woke up. "We'll get the bastards who did this to you, John."