Sadly, I have no fanart for you. Maria’s been very busy. If she ever does manage to get it up on , however, I’ll email everyone the link straight off. (Jnp, as you’re an anonymous reviewer, send me your email address to my email, which I have on my profile. You won’t get any spam or chain letters from me, I swear. I know how annoying those are.)

And before I forget, the photograph that inspired the small tangent in this chapter is on the page that I have listed as my homepage, on the profile.

Keep that link and look at it later.

Anyways, I figured I’d go ahead and just get this over with. Yes, this is the absolute last chapter of Ancient History. Period. Although I’ve been chewing on the idea of a sequel recently (thanks in part to Hgirl), it has always been intended for this to simply stand on its own, with the exception of ‘Comfort And Hope’, which was so good a plot bunny that I just had to post it even though it fit NOWHERE in the plot that I decided to use. This doesn’t mean that I’m not going to have a sequel, but it doesn’t necessarily mean there will be one either. I’ll have to think long and hard about it.

Before I get on to the thank-yous to specific people, I just want to say thank you to EVERYONE who reviewed, and even those who read but didn’t review. You are the entire reason that I kept going with this story, even during the times (and there were many) when I could only wring a few words at a time out of the keyboard. You all rock.

On to specific people:

Mom: You rock, and you didn’t hassle me too terribly much about the cheese thing, no matter how much it pained you to read it. Love you muchly.

Mike: heh...mom tells me I got you hooked on CSI: Miami. I only wrote the fanfiction, pal, it’s your fault that you read it and got hooked. –wink-

Fluffy: the trading scenarios thing was SO MUCH FUN! I loved working with you, and looking back over all those emails we exchanged always makes me giggle at how much of a weirdo I was. You’re such a terrific writer, and I practically have a coronary every time I find that you’ve updated.

Hgirl: Child, you automatically win the ‘Longest And Most Appreciated Review’ award. It was great reading them, especially as you yourself know how vital to the fanfic writer’s LIFE it is to have feedback. I fully intend to go and read every one of your stories in return for the encouragement you’ve given me.

Everyone else: Terribly sorry if I’ve forgotten you, but I don’t want the author’s notes to be longer than the actual story. You all are so cool, I wanna hug each and every one of you.

And here we go, last chapter of Ancient History. For the last time, read, review, and enjoy.

Jessica woke up with a start. She’d had the weirdest feeling, as if someone had touched her face, or perhaps kissed her...

Shaking off the sensation, she rolled out of bed and examined herself in the mirror. Her golden hair hung down in messy curls around her shoulders, and her face was welted red from the folds of the pillowcase. Frowning, she rubbed at them to smooth out her skin. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of a color photo in a sterling frame, a familiar face framed in glossy, honey-toned curls that smiled back at her. She could barely remember her grandmother, as she’d been ten when she’d died. No one had told her how; she just knew that one day, grandma went into work and didn’t come back.

Pulling out of her thoughts, Jessica grabbed her brush and ran it through her hair. She was going back to see her grandfather today if she could manage it, and maybe taking her uncle too. Uncle J was back from his last tour of duty, several ranks higher than he’d been when he’d set out. He was now a Commander now, if she remembered correctly, as opposed to Lieutenant.

Her mom, who was a carbon copy of her grandmother except for her father’s red hair, was too busy working to come with her. In fact, Jessica wouldn’t be surprised if she’d pulled a triple shift and never come home. After dressing quickly in jeans and a tank top, she walked into the kitchen and began making breakfast.

The phone trilled loudly, making her jump. She hated that phone, and its ringer. It always scared her.

“Hello, Turner residence.”

“Is this Sarah, David or Jessica Turner?” The voice on the other end was one of the ones belonging to the attendants at the hospice. Jessica’s heart skipped a beat.

“This is Jessica. What’s happened? Is something wrong with my grandfather?” The voice paused, as if trying to phrase what it had to say in a non-inflammatory way.

“Ma’am, your grandfather was missing from his room this morning. We were wondering if he was there with you, or if you knew where he was.” Jessica stood frozen for a second, shocked. Where could he have gone?

“I have no idea where he went, and he’s not here with me. Are you sure you checked everywhere?” As an afterthought, she added, “Was there anything missing from the room?”

“Why yes, there was something missing. A picture, the one that was on the lamp table in the black frame.” The voice sounded surprised that she’d guessed. Jessica smirked. She wasn’t the granddaughter of Miami’s most famed CSI for nothing.

“Well, thank you. I’ll go out and look for him myself.” Hanging up the phone, she ran to get her car keys.

The picture on the lamp table in the black frame. She knew exactly which one that was, as she’d looked at it at least an hour a day, every day, for six years. It was of her grandmother, on one of the few trips up to the small Minnesota town in which she’d been born. It was the day after Christmas, and Meghan had been wrapped in a thick, black wool cardigan, a cup of hot cider in her hand. She was in a recliner, looking out a sliding glass door over a large, snow-covered porch, and beyond, into the thick Minnesota woods. She had only been 37 then, her sister and niece’s deaths still fresh in her mind after 3 years. It was hard to tell, but if you looked, a small bump could be seen, just above where her hand rested on her hip. The twins.

Jessica had seen that photograph many times, her grandfather having described the circumstances of its origin many times. And as she’d listened, they’d looked at it.

‘Her eyes were what struck me most, Jessi. They always did. Always changing to a different shade of green. They were emerald when she was sad, and a light, almost shamrock green when she was up to something. And when she was thinking, going to a place where no one could reach her, not even me, they were forest green, so dark that they were almost black.’ She could remember his words clearly as they sat tracing the contours and patterns of the photo with their fingertips. She’d heard the story so many times that she could imagine it as if she had been there...

Meghan was shocked at how cold it was.

She used to be able to stand Minnesota cold. The bitterness of it had never really bothered her, and she used to enjoy waking up as a kid and looking out the window at the lacy fingers of frost that coated her bedroom window.

But years of living in Miami had spoiled her to the heat. And it was just so damn cold!

Pulling on a pair of jeans and her favorite black sweater, she padded softly out of the room that she was sharing with her husband. It was getting increasingly hard to walk, as pregnancy was beginning to manifest itself through a bump.

Her aunt and father were both in the kitchen, making breakfast. Meghan was careful to avoid smelling anything, as it had been rapidly discovered several months ago by Horatio that cooking, frying meat was one factor that contributed to her morning sickness. Pouring herself a cup of cider from the steaming pot on the stove, she sat in the quilted chair next to the sliding glass door.

A sudden vibration in her pocket startled her, almost causing her to drop the scalding liquid in surprise. Groping in her pocket, she pulled out her cell phone, having forgotten that it was in the pocket of her jeans. Checking the caller ID, she found that it was Yelina.

“Yes, my dear sister-in-law?”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Meg. Tell Horatio hello for me.” At that moment Horatio came through the door, also in jeans and a sweater. The man had never been able to stand cold.

“Yelina says hello,” Meghan whispered to him, and he smiled. Although he vehemently denied it, Meghan was fairly sure that he hadn’t quite gotten over his infatuation with the gorgeous Colombian. Grinning at her husband, she returned to the conversation. “Did Ray Jr. like his present?” Yelina laughed over the phone, as her son’s voice sounded in the background.

“He loves it, Meg. Where in the world did you manage to get all six of those vintage comics that he likes?”

“I have my ways,” she said mysteriously. “So, anything interesting happen in town while we’ve been gone?” Yelina gave a small cough and said something to Ray, then turned back to the phone.

“Well, two things that you’d find interesting. First...your sonogram came back in the mail.” Meghan immediately perked up.

“Did you open it?”

“That’s why I called. It says,” there was a rustling of papers in the background, then silence. “It says that you’re not only going to have a baby, you’re going to have twins.”

“TWINS?” Meghan’s outburst was enough to get everyone’s attention. Her aunt and father looked at her curiously, and Horatio had a look that was somewhere between pride and shock on his face.

“Yes, twins. Care to know the sex?”

“Hell yes.”

“Boy and girl.” Meghan burst out laughing.

“Are you serious?”

“Very much so.” Meghan relayed this information to Horatio, who looked to die from happiness. She almost missed what Yelina said next.

“Your mother is dead.” Meghan quieted immediately. No one seemed to notice, except Horatio. He was watching her intently from behind the kitchen counter. “Meg? You ok?”

“Yeah. Thanks Yelina. Merry Christmas to you and Ray Jr. both.” She hung up and stared out the window, unsure of how to feel.

And as she was deeply lost in thought, she didn’t notice Horatio studying her closely. Something shifted in his eyes, and they softened. Slipping a camera out of his pocket, he quickly took a picture, and then left her alone.

Jessica was jolted out of her reverie by the sudden appearance of the stark iron gates of the cemetery. Hopping out of her car, she pocketed her keys and began searching the graveyard.

It took several minutes for her to pinpoint the exact location from six-year-old memory. She distinctly remembered a weeping willow being nearby. But there were at least four willows that she could see, and she had to check them all.

On her third pass around the cemetery, she found him. He was lying beside his wife’s grave, one arm stretched over the grassy mound that separated them. He appeared to be asleep.

One touch to his arm proved that assumption to be false. Tears came to Jessica’s eyes, as she looked over her grandfather’s body. She allowed a few to fall, then steadied herself and picked up her cell phone from where she’d dropped it.

“Mom? I found Grandpa,” she said tearfully, as a gentle breeze flowed over her, causing the weeping willows to sway under the scorching Miami sun.