Author's Note: Happy new year everyone!! I hope you all had a very festive season. I'm trying to work extra hard on the proof-reading now that I know I have someone keeping an eye out for grammatical errors. I have taken some liberties with Frank Tripp's character but I have tried to keep in character as much as I could. Apologies to the very late posting of this chapter. Just wanted to say that this chapter is particularly for Carrro, Happy birthday!!! THANK-YOU to everyone who helped me make it to a 100 reviews and beyond - you guys absolutely rocked my socks (in a very good way, I assure you!) Thanks again and happy reading.

Disclaimer: Not mine at all!! Although it would have made a wonderful xmas present!!!

Power

She was already stalking out the study. He followed her, "Marisol, don't…I didn't mean it to sound like that."

"Horatio, you excel at making yourself understood. Don't ever let that concern you!"

The rapid change to ruler of ice-queens coupled with her sarcasm made him cringe inwardly. He loved hearing the teasing sarcasms that she spouted out at him. They amused him because they were good-natured to draw him out but not that one. She was looking for her purse and had finally found it. Gauging her intentions, he immediately reacted and put a hand to her shoulder, "Marisol, wait you can't…" her eyes flashed sparks, uh-oh, that can't be good, he thought, he fumbled for words to explain, "It's raining outside…"

Listening to him babble on only made her angrier. She walked away a couple of paces from him. At least he had the sense not to follow behind too closely. HOW DARE HE? She could damn well do what she wanted. The words were so close to being spat out at him…close…oh so close! She wanted to do it so much. She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. Her own hands balled into tight fists to restrain herself. Oh, screw it all!

"Whatever Horatio," she mumbled walking out the door.

He ran out after her into the pouring rain, "Marisol, wait!" he yelled. She threw him a disdainful look over her shoulder, continuing to walk to the end of his street, "Marisol, I'm sorry," the words were drowned out by the rain.

She lifted her hand to hail a cab. She looked over at him, that little voice of reason telling her to stay. Telling her it was a mistake; that she understood how he had meant it, that she had had the exact same argument with Eric about his protectiveness and worrying. But as always the little voice was issued in vain, as everything else in her screamed 'hurt!'. For God's sake were there no damn cabs in this neighborhood. Ah! Finally! Had she gotten the idiot's attention? Good.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Why did it have to pour buckets today? Boy, God must really have it in for me! What - was there no one else to pick on this weekend? She yelled the thoughts out in her head, which was at this point a complete quagmire of emotions, surfacing and sinking at speeds faster than thought; A whirl of power that in its purest form can only be felt.

He did the only thing his body seemed able to do to make her understand: He pulled her to him and kissed her hard, backing her up against the taxi that had come to a stop behind her.

She gasped and whimpered under the pressure of his lips on hers, succumbing at once to him, allowing him access to her mouth. She lost herself for a moment in his flashing blue eyes. The kiss became wilder. She blinked in surprise, not used to having him be so rough, almost brutal, to her. Her mind reeled, "Horatio," it was a struggle to even get his name out, his lips were forced tightly against hers, "Don't!" she drew in a sharp breath and tried to push him away, her hands slipping on his wet skin. She saw his eyes change back to their normal shade as if he seemed to have come back to his senses. His hands loosened around her, the roughness of his kiss softening immediately. She took the opportunity to again push his face away from hers and slip into the waiting cab.

"Drive!" she barked at the bewildered driver. She sighed loudly.

A minute later she let out a giggle and the cab driver looked back at her with alarm. Another giggle escaped; had she just experienced unbridled passion from the oh-so controlled Lieutenant? Marisol, think straight! Why was she imagining herself in bed with him right now? That fire in his eyes as they both moved together…What am I doing? This really is not the time! Her mind focused back on the anger and gone were any of the lighter thoughts she had previously had of him. She turned around and could through the falling rain make out his rapidly fading silhouette. She didn't need his form to be any clearer to pick out his sagging posture and drooping head. She just could not be around him right now, not when she was so angry. She wiped away the tears streaming down her cheeks. Tears she had not, before, felt falling.

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That was it.

She's gone, said the hollow voice inside him. He glanced around him and spied a face peering out a window. Another house had a couple of more lights switch on. Just great! Now he was going to be neighborhood gossip after living here for seventeen years and not causing so much as a squeak. He watched the taxi make a left and slip into the flow of traffic. What had gotten into him? His heart was still racing and his chest heaving - each breath coming out as a labored gasp. He turned away tiredly and jogged back to his front door, which was wide open – there was water everywhere. He squelched his way to the study but stopped in the doorway. He couldn't bear it right now. It was too painful - the sadness and aching in his chest. It hurt too much. His eyes lingered over items in the room. He could feel the tension dissipating slowly, being replaced with heartbreaking melancholy. His eyes came to rest on the couch. The blue irises flamed into liquid fire. He wanted to burn the couch. That couch - that had been a friend to him for almost a lifetime: During his bachelor days and his marriage…it had been a constant. An item, he had an argument with Raymond over when Ray graduated from the Academy and got a place of his own. It was his one happy remainder from his childhood.. One of the rare items from his childhood allowed a physical, meaningful presence in his home (the rest of his salvaged childhood memories were organized neatly in boxes, in his basement, that hadn't been opened since they'd been packed) and now…

…he wanted to burn it. Wait, wait, wait, wait…. Slow down Caine…You're blaming a couch for some garbage your mouth threw out. Real smart Caine, real smart! He had to find her. She had to know how he felt…. she just had to…otherwise his head had been right all along. He desperately hoped it wasn't. He didn't want it to be right, like it had been about so many other things in his life. He began accusing different parts of himself for the words being a conspiracy against what his heart really wanted but ended up going around in exhausting, mental circles. This was getting ridiculous. He really should find her! She was supposed to be staying with him for a couple of days – he was responsible, at the very least, for her safety. Right now, he didn't want to call either Isabella or Eric. It had obviously been a big deal to Eric for Marisol to pass him over for her lover. And now he had just…. fucked it up…there was no other word to describe it.

He threw a change of clothes into a bag and drove to the one place he thought she would go to, given the turn of events and the weather - her memories that she had told him about from the previous night might break out. He waited it out by Mi Casa point, praying that she would show up.

The seconds dragged into minutes that limped into hours. He began to feel restless, unable to walk it out because of the rain. The restlessness began to gag him. He started hyperventilating as his mind ran through a hundred different scenarios, each assaulted by a memory from past cases he had worked. The painfulness of regret sent his head spinning. Sitting down, he couldn't focus on anything ahead of him. He groped for the handle and tumbled from the car, sinking a little in the mud. He sucked in a breath of air but still felt oppressed. He stood up and took out his handkerchief to wipe the thick mud from his hands. He began to pace. It was hard at first, squelching through the heavy mud and slipping on the few blades of wet grass. He struggled a little, concentrating on his balance and pushing his frustration and desperation into staying on his feet and walking. He continued to pace, feeling better with every turn, oblivious to the rain and unwilling to give up hope that she would come here.

The rain stopped after an hour but there was still no sign of Marisol. His slow growing panic was morphing into desperation, quickly. His head felt hot while the rest of his body felt cool from the drizzle that started up after intervals. He knew he was a mess and his half-skewed reflection from the car merely confirmed it; His shirt was rumpled and half-hanging out of his trousers. His trousers were a mess: from the mud streaks near the pockets to the muddy hems at the ankles. His shoes didn't even look like shoes anymore! His face had aged years in the space of hundreds of minutes and his hair was lackluster, the fire gone from the copper strands and cornflower blue eyes. As daylight came slowly, his mind took pity on his anxiously beating heart, forcing him to give up his wait and be logical – he had hurt her.

The power he had in his hands over her made him tremble with fear. Protecting her was one thing, but protecting her from himself – he couldn't do it.

All he could do now was wait for a sign from her. He had no other option to follow without making the situation worse. He just hoped to hell (since God obviously did not figure in it) that she was ok and had spent the night in a safe place. The Miami sun began to rise on the horizon and he could feel the humidity begin to steam from the ground. He returned to the car. He remained unconcerned about his half-wet clothes, knowing the car was due for servicing soon anyway, and drove to the lab.

When he reached CSI he headed straight for the men's locker room to take a shower. He had just come out of the shower when he began to shake uncontrollably. It stopped as soon as it had started. He was just putting on a fresh shirt when he felt his muscles begin to spasm again and he felt the temperature of the room dropping until his hairs stood on end. But that was impossible, he thought, he had just come out of the shower. He continued to shiver from being cold for some moments. His head was beginning to ache. He finished dressing and went up to his office.

On the way, the night-shift officer, at Reception, caught his attention by calling out to him. He handed the Lieutenant his respective messages. Horatio gripped them tightly as he trudged up to his office. Sitting down, he eagerly read through them; quickly dismissing ones that did not bear her name. He was finally rewarded because in the middle of the pile he saw 'M.Delektorsky' on the ID line. The hope that had buoyed up on seeing her name immediately sank upon reading the message: 'With Isabella Sorenson," that was it – nothing else.

He wildly thought of something to clutch onto as hope. Maybe she hadn't said anything else because this was his work-place but then he thought of her last message about him being a liar after his little incident with Viegas at the club. The words of the message brought a small smile to his face but that was soon gone because he knew she wasn't shy about leaving him a message. Maybe she would still call him later…Maybe…

Disappointed, he started reviewing the case-files that the team had been working on, but it felt more like a distraction than work. His eyes kept flicking to his phone every so often, imagining it had vibrated and made all the more disappointed of being wrong. Still, his mind struggled to concentrate on the papers in front of him. The headache began to pound into a migraine. His eyes lost focus for a moment. He shut them and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes and looked at his watch: It was just gone 6a.m but his caffeine fix already seemed overdue. When had he gotten so dependent on his coffee? Maybe he was getting older and his will weaker; 3 years ago he hardly drank the stuff! It was all Eric's fault! Him and his cafe cubano, 'that could burn a hole through your stomach', according to Speed. Horatio smiled at the recollection before remembering the Delektorsky connection. The smile faded quickly.

He sighed and stretched out his lethargic muscles. It immediately set off the shaking and shivering again. He curled onto his side and crossed his arms tightly against himself, which made things more awkward as it was being done in a chair.

Oh please! His immune system could not possibly be ditching him too. He really couldn't afford to get sick. His mind wondered, guiltily, how good it would feel to have Marisol hold him now and how much he wanted her, forget that, needed her to hold him right now. To have her arms around him, stroking him gently. Her cheek next to his, feeling her warm blush seep into his skin when he teased her. Her lips on his neck, kissing him and driving him crazy. Damn that even! All he wanted was to see her and be near her if nothing else. The pang of being alone, utterly alone shot through his heart with an intensity he had not felt for a long time.

He could feel a fever beginning to wreak havoc in his joints. He really should get some Aspirin and go home...home? No, he couldn't go home, he just couldn't. With this realisation came the determination to work.

He walked out of the break-room after pouring his second mug of coffee and nearly walked headfirst into Frank Tripp.

"Morning, Sunshine," drawled the Texan.

"Francis," came Horatio's cringing reply.

Frank guffawed loudly, "Well aren't you turning out to look like a regular battlefield these days?"

Horatio touched the scratch on his cheek self-consciously.

"Really Horatio, do I have to teach you once again how to shave, man? And if that's the state of your face, I'd hate to think of the state of your back!" finished Frank with a wink.

Horatio felt his cheeks flame at the detective's innuendo. This was getting ridiculous, he wasn't supposed to get flustered at such a small thing. Normally he would have shot back a glib reply and smoothly avoided the subject of his private life. He touched the small scratch again. He knew where had had got it from – he had felt the cold rain sting it as she had pushed his face away and slipped into the cab. He didn't think it would be this noticeable. He could feel his temper rising at having to justify the scratch and hunt around for a cover-up excuse.

Frank noticed his friend's silence, "Horatio?"

"Hmm? Frank?"

"Are you ok?"

"Me? Hmm…fine. You're here early."

Frank jerked a thumb up towards Horatio's office, "I was just coming to get the paperwork on Harrison. Governor's been pestering the DA on conviction rates. The DA's on the Chief's back to move faster, and he's breathing down our necks."

"Yeah, right, I just finished it and it's a solid case. We should get him."

Frank nodded somberly. There humor in his eyes replaced with concern, "Are you sure you're ok, Horatio? You look pale and you're shaking." Frank pointed to the visibly trembling coffee mug in his hand.

Horatio shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, "I'm fine," Frank placed his hands on his hips and cocked his eyebrows up at Horatio, almost daring him to lie again. On any other day, Horatio would have had no problem in deflecting even this most serious of glances but today he wasn't quite up to it, "Ok…" he admitted, "I feel a bit under the weather."

Frank's face twitched into a smile of victory at getting Horatio to admit he wasn't feeling well but he knew that there was something more, actually something almost lovesick about the Lieutenant. He was a betting man and if anyone had offered, he was sure that he would have won, hands down, in thinking Marisol Delko featured prominently in his friend's thoughts right now, "I've got some Amoxicillin back at PD. I can get some for you, if you like."

Horatio shook his head, "I have Zithromax in a drawer, somewhere…" he gave a wry smile, "Although it's probably expired by now."

Frank smiled back - a little relieved that Horatio's humor was slowly coming through. He followed Horatio upstairs to the Lieutenant's office. He noted Horatio's behavior: the imperious scrutiny of his cell-phone to make sure he had no text-messages, missed calls or voice mail. He also noticed the scrap of message paper all twisted and scrunched up, bearing 'Delektor-'. But that was all, as the rest of it was hidden from his view. Aah! So he hadn't been wrong after-all. Now what could Horatio have possibly done to have a major fight with a woman he was clearly falling in love with? Sure couples fought but Horatio and Marisol were not just any couple. He knew that if Marisol were even half-related to Eric, she would have to have a hot temper. But Horatio was not one to provoke… He noticed Horatio had somewhat lapsed into a daze, "H….paperwork? Harrison?"

"Hmm…" Horatio blinked a couple of times, "Of course," he began to shuffle through the files on his table.

Frank waited patiently. His intuition and experience of women suddenly brought insight: Mixed communication! Crossed lines. Whatever you wanted to call it – that had to be it. Women were surely from Venus, actually make that a planet more distant, try Neptune! Because they sometimes just took words completely the wrong way! "Thanks, Horatio," he said taking the proffered file. He walked towards the door, "I'll see you later, Horatio."

Horatio gave a smile and nodded, lifting his mug in thanks.

"OH! And Horatio, call her, will ya' sunshine?!" He chuckled at Horatio choking on his coffee and left, after waiting for a moment to make sure Horatio had no unfortunate choking accidents.

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Half-an-hour later, Horatio Caine was feeling worse. He had indeed taken Frank's words to heart but her phone was still at his place and it was still far too early to call Isabella's. He had searched his drawers to indeed discover that not only had his Zithromax tablets expired into discolored powder, but that he didn't have enough for a full course, anyway. He was tempted to ask Alexx when she came if she could prescribe him some but he put it out of his mind. He didn't need his ME having a discrepancy on her record because of a prescription that she couldn't authorise, not with the lab under scrutiny. He'd just pass by the Doc's office during his lunch-break. He began to cough: it was a dry cough that an hour later had become a thicker, chesty cough. Just bloody great! he thought angrily as he scribbled his signature at the bottom of a page. Just then his phone began to beep. He enthusiastically reached for it, everything in him saying it was her. He was about to rejoice in hearing her voice, when to his immense dismay he saw it was 'Dispatch'. Frustrated, he carelessly dropped the phone onto his desk again. He stood up quickly; his breathing became elevated causing him to cough some more. He crossed over to check his equipment before heading out to the Hummer.

On his way there, he tried to be as 'normal' as possible to the various 'Good morning Lieutenants' that came his way, but it was by no means easy. Ryan Wolfe hurried up to him to ask him something and he was able to, surprisingly, think straight and give the young CSI his opinion. 30 minutes before shift started and the CSI was already here. Not surprising given his OCD. He didn't expect Eric or Calleigh to be in yet.

Frank caught him near the reception, "Horatio. I'm working on this one with you. It's in my neighbourhood. Initial report from the on-site rookie makes it look like it's a robbery gone wrong."

Horatio nodded promptly, his mind smoothly changing gears, his body struggling a little to keep up. They walked quickly towards the car-park. Horatio's sunglasses were already on, keeping the strong rays at bay. They were halfway there when he stopped in his tracks. Clearly, he was going insane because now he was imagining hearing her saying his name – but he was proved wrong. Thankfully he was not going insane because Frank stopped too.

"Horatio?" The relief in the voice was clear. He turned to the source of his name and felt his heart soar. She was walking briskly towards them. He felt the most idiotic smile break out onto his face. Clearly it hadn't been too early to call Isabella's. He felt his heart falter a little as he took in her appearance when she soon caught up to them. To be fair, she did not look like the picture of calm beauty he was used to seeing; The pretty, pink dress was crumpled, an edge or two marked with dirt. Her eyes looked as tired as he felt, and a little wild. Her lips were ever-so slightly swollen but not noticeable enough to anyone except one who was so intimate with them and had caused it. His heart shrank as his actions, last night, came back to him.

Frank noticed Horatio's quietness and coughed softly. He gave a warm smile of his own as she approached them, "Morning."

Marisol looked confused at Horatio's small nod before replying in a friendly tone, "Hi. I'm Marisol Delektorsky," she introduced, her hand reached out to shake Frank's. She looked at Horatio whose smile had folded itself back into the lines of his face. His sunglasses added to the sombreness of the atmosphere between them. She had anticipated that this wasn't going to be easy. Trying to be as subtle as possible and mustering a cheery voice from the back of her dry throat.

Frank interrupted her with a small cough of his own. He certainly didn't need a cue to vamoose, the strained silence between the couple was enough, "I'll get Wolfe, Horatio."

"I'll meet you there," replied Horatio.

"Pleased to meet you ma'am," he said to Marisol with a smile, taking a couple of steps away from them.

"Pleasure, Sir," she responded in kind.

They were both quiet.

"Why don't we come over here?" he gently took her arm and led her near the shaded garage. She started at the contact. Different thoughts filled their minds as to why. Hers: how his touch could still induce sparks and make her warm and tingly. His: he must have hurt her, last night, God knows he hadn't meant to be so rough with her. He ran his eyes over her form to look for any other signs of his uncouth behaviour. He had guided them to where he knew they would be partially hidden by some palm trees.

"I hope CSIs like doughnuts as much as cops," she said, offering him the box of Krispy Kremes.

"Aah, so that's how you've managed to avoid getting convicted all these years," he joked back weakly. His mind blanked as to what to say next. A few minutes ago he had been dying to see her or hear her voice and here she was and…and he had lost his voice. "Um…thanks for the doughnuts. I have to go but-" he paused for a moment, his eyes darting to Frank's back, "- how about we have lunch together: Old Man and the Sea? Two-thirty? I just need you to know right now that I'm sorry. We can talk then. Ok?"

She was a bit taken aback with his abruptness and mentally scolded herself for not expecting this, "Sure. I…um, I have some things to do anyway. Should I just meet you there?"

"If you like," he replied, stepping closer to her. He slipped his sunglasses into his pocket and leaned in, his cheek brushing hers, to whisper in her ear, "Wait for me, Marisol?" He felt her nod against his shoulder, "Thank-you, Sweetheart," he whispered again. He drew back, leaving a warm kiss on her cheek, and walked away to the Hummer.

She leaned back against the trunk of a palm tree and took a deep breath. He had just completely un-nerved her. She had come ready with a well rehearsed apology only to have him leave her more worried than before. Two-thirty seemed a long way away. She hadn't failed to notice his fatigued eyes, flushed complexion as she drew nearer to them only to have him leave her paler than she had ever seen him. His saddened eyes spoke more of his heart than his words. It sent a stab of emotion through her heart. But most of all she hadn't failed to notice the angry, red streak on his left cheek that fit perfectly with the chipped nail of her right index finger. Marisol Delektorsky felt a leviathan surge of guilt, ripple through her. Her heart made flimsy by the inexorable thought that she had the power to make him this unhappy.

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Author's Note 2: Amoxicillin and Zithromax are both quite potent antibiotics. I hope y'all don't feel like this is being dragged on for too long, because I promise it will be over in the next chapter so bear with me! I've not written much in the angst genre in any of my stories, so I hope this was ok, as far as angst goes. Thank-you for reading...hope you enjoyed it.