Miami, Present day:
He gave her a weak smile as she entered the kitchen and sat down opposite him at the table.
"Here, you forgot this," she said as she held up a black neoprene support bandage and put it on the table in front of him.
He felt his cheeks colour a little in embarrassment and avoided eye contact with her as he put it on his left arm.
"Sorry, I guess I'm a little distracted this morning," he replied as he picked up his bagel and nibbled at it.
She watched him as he went through the motions of chewing and swallowing, looking for all the world as if he were being made to eat cardboard.
"It's ok to be nervous, you know."
His hands stilled and it took him a moment or two for him to regain his composure.
"I'm not nervous," he said quietly as he placed the half-eaten bagel back on the plate.
"Look, no one would think any less of you if you needed more time."
"I would think less of myself," he responded quietly and quickly, meeting her eyes for the briefest of moments before returning his gaze to the table.
"After what you've been through…"
He looked up at her this time.
"What I went through…..it was my fault. I should have known better than to think I could handle the situation myself. I put everyone in danger because I was too proud to ask for help. I could have got Kyle killed."
She was shocked by his negative self-assessment; surely he didn't blame himself for what happened to him at the hands of the Malucci's?
"Horatio, this wasn't your fault….."
"Kyle could have died, because of me. I wouldn't blame the rest of you if you don't trust me anymore. I was cowardly and reckless, those four police officers died because of me."
"Horatio, why would you say that?"
"Because it's true."
He finished the rest of his coffee before picking up his suit jacket from the back of the chair and shrugging it on. He placed his keys and wallet in his trouser pockets and turned to leave the room. Looking over his shoulder, he gave her a sad smile.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Calleigh. You've been more than generous in putting me up; I'll gather my belongings later and head home tonight."
The thought of him no longer sleeping in her bed shocked her momentarily. Theirs had been a relationship that could not easily be defined over the last few months. At first she tended to him as he recovered from his injuries and held him as the nightmares came to claim him night after night.
The only thing that seemed to soothe his troubled mind was the feel of her resting in his arms, even when his injuries protested against her physical presence; he continued to hold her close in an effort to keep his demons at bay.
Apart from a few chaste, yet meaningful kisses, they had remained platonic in their relationship. Whilst she dreamt of taking things further, she reminded herself that Horatio needed time to come to terms with his abduction and subsequent torture.
They had fallen into an easy routine; it had been many weeks since Horatio had needed any type of physical support in tending to his own needs. He could have easily moved back into his own house now that it had been redecorated and no longer bore the reminders of the Malucci's. But he chose to stay here, with Calleigh, and she was more than happy with the arrangement.
"I'll wait in the car," he said as he walked through the hallway to the front door.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and blew out a breath of frustration, at a loss as to what to do to convince Horatio to stay. For the last few days he had retreated within himself and she feared that his apprehension about returning to work was the main cause.
She flipped open her phone and dialled a number that she'd been dreading, wincing as the gruff voice answered the phone.
Flashback. Miami, 14 weeks ago:
He sat back awkwardly in the armchair as he munched absent-mindedly on the bag of potato chips he'd purchased from the hospital vending machine and watched as his former partner tossed and turned restlessly in the bed.
The redhead looked more than a little worse for wear, covered head to toe in cuts, bruises and burns with tubes and wires snaking in and out of the sheets that covered him. He could hear the other man mumble beneath the oxygen mask that covered his face, the wet sound of his breathing still evident as was the sweat beading on his forehead.
He placed the bag down and reached out a hand to his friend, squeezing the unconscious man's forearm.
"Easy, John. You're ok now."
The words had little effect on the restless figure as he continued to shake his head back and forth. He could see the eyes of the redhead roll from left to right as the eyelids opened slightly every now and then.
Lifting up the washcloth from the bowl, he dampened it in the cool water and placed it on the other man's head, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, when his friend finally began to settle again.
He took a slurp from his can of soda and settled back in the chair, wondering what John could possibly be dreaming about.
He could feel their hands on him, beating him, touching him and taunting him.
He had always thought of himself as a strong man but the pain cascading through his body was beginning to get too much for him to bear.
He had never felt pain like it when they smashed the baseball bat down on his arm. He could see the object coming towards him but was powerless to stop it from striking his bruised and battered flesh.
They had left him sitting, bound to the chair, for hours on end. The endless cycle of light and heat, darkness and frigidity left him feeling dazed and confused until he no longer knew night from day.
He had no idea how long he'd been sitting on the chair, it could have been hours or days, but it made no difference to his aching bladder as it made its impatient presence known.
He had tried everything to stop it, but nature took its inevitable course as his body betrayed his mind. He could feel the wetness soaking through his pants and running down his legs. Had he the strength to lift his head, he would most likely have thrown it back in embarrassment and frustration, mortified by his own lack of control over his body's functions.
His heart sank as one of his captors re-entered the room, laughing and sniggering at the mess he had made of himself. He could feel their hands on his body, taunting him as they moved closer to him and then suddenly away again.
He couldn't see much in the dark and his view was limited by his inability to lift his head, his heart breaking into further pieces as the voice of one of the Malucci thugs resounded through his head.
"Like father like son. Your boy made a mess in his pants too when we shot him in the head, maybe it runs in the family, eh?"
The thought of the young man lying dead in the street made his heart beat faster as adrenaline surged through his veins. He took a deep lungful of air as he screamed the name of his boy.
"KYLE!"
The force with which the man lying in the bed came awake made even the grizzled and seasoned Andy Sipowicz jump slightly in his chair. Standing up quickly he placed a hand on his distressed friend's shoulder and began talking to him, trying to calm him.
"Easy, fella, you're ok."
A pair of panicked blue eyes looked up at him; the injured man panted heavily and tried vainly to lift himself from the bed.
Andy didn't need to exert much strength to persuade the redhead to lie back down, his former partner offering little in the way of resistance to him. He studied the man sadly, shocked to see how much this ordeal had taken out of him.
"You ok now?" he asked as he slowly lowered himself back down to the chair, his knees creaking noisily.
The other man said nothing, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he tried to stop the tears from falling. Praying that he would not display yet another sign of weakness in front of another person.
"You wanna talk about it?"
The younger man shook his head and then groaned at the stars that flashed in front of his eyes and the lancing pain that shot through his skull.
Andy could sense that his friend was shutting him out, trying to internalise his suffering and block out the physical and emotional pain that was battering him.
"The nightmares, they're about Kyle, aren't they?"
His question was rewarded with a pale attempt at a glare, the eyes of the man in the bed still dazed and glassy.
"You need to talk about it. Hiding things from us was how you got in this mess in the first place," Andy remarked dryly, gently chiding the man in front of him.
He suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as he saw the other man's crestfallen face and attempted to remove the foot that was now firmly wedged in his mouth, metaphorically speaking.
"Granted, I'm not the best person to lend an ear, but it's here if you want it."
The two men sat in silence for some time as a nurse came in to check her patient's IVs and then left again.
"How come you always get the damn luck with the nurses? When I got shot all I had was a Nurse Ratchet look-alike giving me sponge baths. How come you get all the hot ones?"
The question was meant to lift his friend's spirits but he felt his own smile falter at the stony face of the other man.
"Look, John, the doctor says she thinks you've come through the worst of it so I'm gonna head back to New York for a few days. I've got a few loose ends that I need to tie up."
The redhead nodded his head slightly and screwed his eyes shut again as another wave of pain washed over him. It hit Andy then that John had not said a word since he'd woken thrashing and screaming.
"It won't be for long, then I'll be back down to help you get back on your feet, ok?"
"Ok," was the barely audible response.
"You look tired pal, why don't you try to get some sleep," he suggested as he watched his friend struggle to keep his eyes open.
All the poor man had done was sleep since he'd been brought in barely alive, Andy had no doubt that the heady mix of injuries and medication was to blame for John's lethargy.
He waited until he was certain that the injured man was asleep before turning his attention to more pressing matters, namely his very full bladder.
He grimaced as he came face to face with the woman who had given him so much attitude and trouble since he'd come to Miami. The blonde woman looked markedly better than she had a few short days ago, the defeated look on her face replaced by one of defiance and self-assurance.
"Andy," she regarded him coolly, standing with her hands on her hips.
"Calleigh," he growled back in response.
"If you've come to see him I should tell you that he's asleep right now," his tone was icy towards the woman he viewed as his nemesis.
"Then I'll go and sit with him. I wouldn't want to let him wake up alone."
She raised any eyebrow at him, the venom clear in her voice.
He could feel his own hackles rise and bit down on the urge to give the woman a piece of his mind.
"Where are you going?" she asked as she watched him walk towards the corridor.
"The men's room, wanna join me?"
Now it was his turn to arch an eyebrow at her.
He smirked to himself, happy with his small, yet hollow, victory. He wasn't sure if it was the right time to mention it but figured any time would be as good as any, Calleigh Duquesne was not likely to change her negative opinion of him any time soon.
"Just so you know, I'm heading back to New York for a couple of days. There are a few things that I need to take care of."
"You're abandoning him. Again?"
A red mist of anger descended over him as he stalked his way back towards her.
"No, I'm not. I have family back home; I need to get some things in order there."
"I thought he was your family too. Is this what you do when things get tough, run away?"
"No, that would be John's forte."
The words were out of his mouth before he realised that he'd even said them. He knew he richly deserved the slap that stung his cheek painfully.
"Go home and don't come back, I don't want you anywhere near Horatio from now on."
He kicked himself, knowing that his smart mouth had got the better of him yet again. This time he'd dug himself into a hole that he wasn't sure how to get out of. He gave Calleigh one last look before nodding his head tightly and walking away.