Horatio made his way down to the morgue via the elevator, feeling a renewed sense of confidence that he had faced down Cesar Donato and had not even blinked at the man's threatening tone. He knew the man better than to think he would be foolish enough to bring a gun to the Department, but he was confident that he would not freeze again like he had at the warehouse.

It felt good to be back in the saddle, as Frank had put it. No longer was he hiding in the bowels of the building like some meek child, he was taking command once more of the Lab that he had worked so tirelessly to build. He was facing his demons head-on instead of ignoring them and pretending that they weren't there.

Still, he knew that things were not right. How could Calleigh have been so forgiving of his trespasses in regards to Lori? He had willingly let himself be manipulated by his ex-wife, telling himself that he was powerless against her, that she had always managed to bend him to her will. That had been wishful thinking, a part of him knew exactly what he was doing and that his actions would end up hurting those he loved.

It didn't stop him indulging in the fanciful notion that things could return to the way they were. His life had become such a maelstrom of conflicting emotions that it had left him confused and angry at his inability to control himself. Control had always been one of his biggest strengths as he created a new life in Miami. He prided himself on the fact that he kept his temper, even in the most trying of circumstances, and had always put the interests of others before his own.

But his life had turned into such a mess, and after years of giving so selflessly, a part of him wanted to do what he wanted, just for once in his life. He wanted to be freed from the constraints of responsibility, free from the thankless task of protecting everyone else. He wanted, just for a moment, to be free from everything.

He had convinced himself that losing himself in Lori would provide the perfect answer, the physical hedonism she provided when they were intimate would allow him to free himself from the nagging voices in his head. After years of pain and misery, didn't he deserve a little happiness of his own?

Experience had taught him that the happiness with Lori would be short-lived, and that he would instantly come to regret sleeping with his ex-wife. After everything Calleigh had done for him, it would have been beyond selfish to betray her in such a way, for nothing more than a few moments of physical gratification.

Calleigh had been understanding, too understanding of what had happened with Lori. Her love for him was so strong that it clouded her thinking when it came to him. There were no two ways about it, he had betrayed her by even considering sleeping with Lori. By rights, Calleigh should have hated him for what he had done, yet she hadn't.

The more consideration he gave it, the more he realised that Calleigh deserved better. He was still far from being the man she deserved, she needed more than a man who was struggling so badly to understand who he was anymore. How could he ever truly love her until he knew who he was himself?

"Ah, Lieutenant. Always such a pleasure to see you down here, rumour has it that you've been hiding away upstairs."

The jovial tone of Dr Tom Loman caused him to flinch momentarily as the words registered in his over-worked mind. The resident M.E had always been blunt in his comments to his colleagues, often causing unintended friction within the team at his tactless comments. Still, anyone who had spent time with Tom understood that it was just part of his personality, he was a fine medical examiner, but somewhat lacking in the social graces of the rest of society.

Perhaps it was why he became a medical examiner in the first place, Horatio mused, as he painted a stiff smile on his face and walked towards the autopsy table. Maybe Tom had always known that he somehow didn't fit in with the rest of society, that his quirky nature would not be easily accepted by people who did not take the time to know him. Working with the dead probably afforded the doctor the ability to speak freely without the worry of whether his words would offend them. Dead people never spoke, not in the most obvious sense anyway.

For all of his social awkwardness, Tom Loman was a fine M.E, he carried out his work efficiently and with a grace that belied his sometimes caustic nature with his colleagues. He had come to respect the man for his abilities as a medical examiner, he would certainly never be close with the man in the way he had been with Alexx, time and the loss of too many colleagues had caused him to distance himself from the people he worked with for fear of the pain that their passing would bring.

Tom Loman didn't have the soft, soothing voice of his dear friend Alexx, even when she was tearing him a new one, she did it in such a way that the words stung slightly less than they would of coming from another. She had always understood what made him tick, when to be gentle and probing, and when to be firm and forceful. Alexx had never been scared to speak her mind to him, it was one of the things he respected and admired about her the most. She'd taken him into her family when he had none of his own to speak of and had treated him like a brother, something that was completely at odds with the medical examiner who currently ran the Department's morgue.

Tom's professional and rather detached attitude was something of a breath of fresh air to him. He had long been prodded, cajoled and harassed into revealing his inner thoughts to his colleagues as they continually asked him how he was, how he was coping, how he was feeling. How was he ever supposed to know how to answer them if they wouldn't give him the time and room to figure it out for himself?

The M.E's comments had caught him unawares, yet there was something refreshing about the abrupt way the man spoke. He wasn't another of his concerned colleagues who felt they had to tiptoe around him for fear of upsetting him, he just treated him in the same way that he always would. If Tom Loman cared about his current state of mind then he didn't openly show it, and the realisation that he would not be questioned about his personal life came as huge relief. Tom wouldn't look at him with those pitying eyes, with an expression that conveyed the concern for his wellbeing. He could lose himself in his professional demeanour and not be questioned for it.

He needed the focus of the current case to keep him sane, and he found himself counting down the hours until his next session with Jeff. The idea of becoming so reliant on a therapist momentarily galled him until he realised that the walls were closing in on him once more. He needed the level-headed Jeff to listen and understand, he knew the man would not pass judgement but allow him to gain some perspective instead.

The appointment was not until the afternoon and so he would have to make do with concentrating his attention on the case instead. As far as he was concerned, the less time he spent thinking about his feelings the better.

"Lieutenant?"

Tom's deep voice shook him from his reverie. That would be something else he needed to discuss with Jeff, his daydreaming was becoming more apparent to the people around him as he lost himself in his thoughts. He needed his focus back, his head had to be in the game, people's lives depended on it.

"What have you got, Dr Loman?" he finally replied, with all the professionalism he could muster.

"I'm sure you've heard by now that my latest resident is Jesus Fernandez, the lead suspect on your double homicide. How's that case going by the way?"

It wasn't. Jesus had been their only suspect, his fingerprints had been found at the scene along with blood from an unknown male. Frank had released Jesus in the hopes that he would unwittingly lead them to his accomplice and perhaps one of the murder weapons. Most of what they'd had was circumstantial at best, certainly nothing they could build a solid case on yet. Now that their prime suspect was dead, the leads had all but dried up. The Spanish community were wary of the police at best, there would be little or no chance that anyone would come forward with new information for fear of getting the same treatment as poor, unfortunate Jesus Fernandez.

He chose to ignore the question and asked one of his own instead. "I take it that you've confirmed cause of death?"

"Yes, the rather large portion of his face and the smaller exit wound through the back of the skull were caused by some kind of handgun, killing him instantly. He'd been given a thorough working over beforehand though."

"How so?" he questioned as he placed his hands on his hips, tapping the badge on his belt lightly, watching carefully as the doctor lifted up the bruised left arm of the corpse.

"I found boot prints and several contusions that are consistent with a brutal and sustained beating. If there were more left of his face I'm sure that would also tell a similar story."

A memory of the beatings he'd been subjected to himself caught him by surprise, the terror he felt as they came for him, again and again, taunting him with what they would do to him once they'd beaten him into unconsciousness. No, he would not go back there. He couldn't.

He shook the vivid memory from his mind. "You say the wound was a through and through, any chance you found fragments from the bullet in the wound track?"

Tom shook his head as he placed the arm back down on the cold metal table gently, affording the corpse before him the grace and respect that he might not have deserved should he finally be found guilty of playing a part in the double homicide of the Simpson couple. "No such luck I'm afraid. Perhaps Ryan or Eric found something at the scene?"

"I was about to head up there shortly, Doctor. Anything else you can tell me about Mr Fernandez and how he died?"

Tom shook his head vigorously, in a way that was so natural to him but seemed slightly out of place to the reserved Lieutenant. Sometimes Tom's eagerness to perform his duties bordered on glee at being able to dismember the corpses of the dearly departed. He'd found it hard to understand the doctor's excitement at carrying out such a grim act. To him, death had always been such a sad and mournful affair, he'd never gotten used to seeing death and destruction since he'd become a cop so many years ago. Time and experience had lessened the shock or disgust he felt at seeing the maimed and bloody corpses of innocent victims, yet there were still times when the senselessness and brutality of murder would catch him off-guard and take him by surprise. How could one person be capable of killing another?

Like you don't know what that feels like, the voice in his head taunted him. He'd killed people before, too many people for his liking. But he'd been justified in ending the lives of those people. Hadn't he?

He'd seen too much death and destruction in his life, one by one, the deaths had chipped away at what little had been left of the good man inside him. He'd seen too many deaths, been responsible for too many of them, their deaths were on his conscience. It was a burden that he carried with him daily, one that was becoming too heavy to bear anymore. Was that why he was so desperate to give into those lustful feelings with Lori, would it ever really take him back to a time when things were that much simpler?

The things that he had been made to do, both back in New York and here in Miami, they were things that he could never take back, he could never go back and right those wrongs, no matter how hard he tried. But God, he was so tired of trying, so tired of everything. He needed time, space to get away from everything until he could sort out the mess that his mind had become. The concerned looks and pitying stares from the people around him were becoming too much, they were clinging on to him too tightly. They needed to let him go, he needed room to breathe before he suffocated and lost himself completely.

The sound of the elevator dinging and the doors opening caused both men to look towards the other end of the room where Ryan stood, he fidgeted almost awkwardly as he found his superior looking at him expectantly. He ignored Horatio's questioning stare and spoke directly to Tom instead. "I got your message. You have the clothes from Fernandez?"

"Indeed I do, Ryan. I haven't done more than a cursory inspection of them, but they're here bagged and tagged and ready to go." He held the bag out in front of his body proudly as Ryan shuffled over and took it from him. He then turned his attention to Horatio, "Was there anything else I could help you with, Lieutenant?" he asked brightly.

Horatio shook his head as he adjusted his gun holster and tapped on his badge again. "Keep me informed of any developments, Doctor Loman."

Tom gave him a firm nod of the head before returning to the autopsy, humming a jaunty tune as he did so.

Sometimes, being a shorter man had its disadvantages. Ryan picked up his pace to match the longer strides of his superior in order to catch up with him before he entered the elevator. They stood side by side in awkward silence as the doors closed and the elevator began its ascent to the fourth floor.

"Something I can do for you, Mr Wolfe?" Horatio asked softly, picking up on the unease of his younger colleague. Ryan Wolfe was a fine CSI, but his poker face needed a great deal of work. It was all too easy to know when Ryan was feeling nervous, he often fidgeted continuously and avoided eye contact with anyone, much like himself, he mused.

Ryan was easy to read, his body language often giving him away, certainly to an experienced police officer like Horatio. His nervousness often played to his advantage in the fact that people, especially criminals, would underestimate the steely resolve of the young CSI. Still, the boy was prone to making poor choices throughout his career. How many times had Ryan made the same mistake over and over again?

To terminate his employment at the Crime Lab had not been an easy task, he could barely look at Ryan as he uttered those words, the finality of the situation causing a lancing pain in his heart as he watched the young man's face fall. In all of his time as a police officer and head of the Crime Lab, he had never felt as much of a heel as he had then, holding out his hand expectantly for Ryan's gun and badge.

But the man had made his own choices, he'd made mistakes repeatedly, even though he knew that he was playing with fire when he did so. And so poor Ryan's fingers had got burnt, and badly so. His heart ached to not be able to take the young man under his wing as he began to replay over and over in his mind what he could have done differently to save Ryan from his fate.

You could have paid him more attention, the small voice in his head goaded him. He'd deliberately kept Ryan at a distance, he couldn't go through the heartache of losing another one of his team. Even now, he still had several flashbacks to that fateful day when Tim Speedle was shot and killed in the line of duty. He would never forget the sights and sounds of that day for as long as he lived, the coppery smell of blood as it wafted into his nostrils made his stomach clench involuntarily, even as he thought about it now.

He had been far too lenient with Speed, treating the man more like a friend than a subordinate. There was just so much to like about the monosyllabic and laid-back young man, he couldn't help but grow closer to his young protégé, after years of loneliness, it had felt good to have people around him that almost seemed like family. Perhaps it was the succinct way that Tim spoke that drew him closer, Speed was a not a man for histrionics, he just got on with the job at hand, only really speaking when he needed to.

There was an unspoken understanding between the two of them, neither were comfortable taking about their feelings or that loquacious when it came to getting the job done, more could be conveyed in a look or a nod of the head than could be said in words. There was solitude in silence, something both men seemed to have in common.

But Tim was laid-back, too laid back for his own good, and it had cost him his life. He had warned his younger colleague a number of times that his negligence when it came to cleaning his firearm would one day cost him dear, but not even he knew just how high a price Tim would be forced to pay.

The shot that Tim took had been fatal, he could see as much just by looking at the entry wound, directly over the heart. At least his passing had been swift and relatively painless. But there had been nothing that he could do, he was helpless to stop nature, and fate, from running its course. He had held onto Tim as he bled out, feeling his precious blood soak into his own clothes, a splash of blood marring his own face as the poor man coughed and choked out his last breath.

There had been nothing that he could have done that day, yet the truth was that he could have done so much more to prevent the whole sorry episode from ever happening in the first place. If he had just been more professional, tougher on his young charge, then his gun would never have jammed and he would still be alive today. Tim's death had been a bitter pill to swallow, but his passing had taught him a valuable lesson: to keep his subordinates at arm's length.

When young Ryan Wolfe had transferred to the team from Patrol he had made a concerted effort to keep the man at a distance, always making sure that the lines between familiarity and professionalism did not become blurred. He rarely, if ever, called the young man by his first name in an effort to keep some distance between them. He would teach his young charge in the same way that he had the other members of his team, but he would not allow himself to fall into the same trap again.

There had been times when he had fought the urge to take Ryan under his wing and bring him into the inner circle that he had allowed so few people to enter. Yet he couldn't, each time he even considered the thought of allowing Ryan to know the real man beneath the image, visions of Tim lying in a pool of his own blood, dying, came to mind. He wouldn't, no, he couldn't allow Ryan to find a way into his heart. He couldn't lose another person he loved, the constant and repeated loss of those around him had dragged him down too far now. To lose another would be the killer blow, his resistance to yet another sucker punch would desert him, and this time he knew he would hit the mat hard. So hard that he would not be able to recover and get back up.

The silence yawned between the two of them. The only sound being the chiming of the elevator as it ascended through the floors. For Ryan, he knew it was now or never. "H, I need to ask you for a favour," the younger man begun.

Horatio kept his gaze ahead, keeping his eyes firmly on the elevators control panel, watching the numbers flick up as they passed each floor. "You have my attention, Mr Wolfe."

Ryan took a deep breath and steeled himself, unsure of the response he would receive.

"Delko? Wolfe?"

Eric's ears pricked up as he heard the booming voice and heavy footfalls of Frank Tripp as he trudged his way through the Crime Lab. "Hey, Frank. Where's the fire?" he asked with a smile as he poked his head out from the Trace room.

"Where's Wolfe?"

He frowned at Frank's terse response. The tall Texan wasn't a man for idle chit-chat at the best of times, but the man was downright steaming as he placed his hands on his hips and let out a growl.

"What's up?" he asked, bracing himself for the answer. Frank Tripp was a straight as they came, certainly not a man given into hyperbole. Whatever had gotten under the detective's skin, it was likely something big.

Frank was about to open his mouth when both men turned their attention to the elevator as the doors opened with a cheery 'ding' belying the tense mood in the corridor. "Horatio," he grumbled as he stalked his way over to the Lieutenant, "It's a good job I found you," he said as he ran a hand over his head.

"Problems, Francis?" Horatio responded as he regarded his colleague.

"Well, I was gonna tell the monkeys, good thing I found the organ grinder instead."

The two CSIs looked affronted at the remark but knew better than to interrupt Frank when he was in full flow. Horatio arched an eyebrow at Frank before looking pointedly at Eric and Ryan.

At least the detective had the good grace to look slightly apologetic as he gave a tight smile and nod of the head to the two young men. "No offence, fellas."

"None taken," Eric replied haughtily as he made his way out to join the rest of them in the corridor.

"We've got a problem, Horatio. A big problem."