Rating: R – for Language and Sensuality (Final Chapter R to NC-17)

Pairing: Horatio & Calleigh

Spoilers: Early script drafts of the episode ‘Officer Down’ per .com Later on, I rather blatantly steal a line of dialogue from the episode Slow Burn because it just plain knocked me out. Credit on that one goes straight to the CSI Miami writers.

A/N: My muse is a stubborn, relentless, undeniable temptress of evil. There is no other explanation for her behavior with regard to this story.

You see, when it came to creating a story for this episode, I tried to keep her chained up. Kdeb even added some padlocks, a secret key, a really beefy security guard. It was no use. Nothing helped. I wanted to wait on publishing this fic until after the episode aired. However, nothing could keep this one from being written. My muse, you see, had other ideas. She kept feeding me images, snatches of dialogue, scenarios. Furthermore, lo and behold, once I sat down to actually *write* this story, it came to me! Imagine the shock!! I guess she gets quite carried away by interpersonal H/C episode spoilers. Kdeb – one word, baby. “Distressed.”

Officer Down was supposed to air during February sweeps. Now it’s being bumped all over the map. Schedule changes drove my muse into an impatient, petulant rampage – and Rescue Operation was finally born. So, until O/D airs, here is a flight into fantasy – a view of what I *wish* would come to be on this episode.

Dedication: To my muse. Perhaps the next time I call on her, when I’m stonewalled, or out of ideas, she will obey my pleas for help just like I obeyed her by writing this story.

Sure. As if. Already she’s laughing at me hysterically.

~~~~~

Summary: “How did the front of your shirt get so bloody?” Leaving his sister-in-law behind, trying to ignore the heavy, escalated beat of his heart, Horatio answered sharply, “Passive transfer.”

~~~~~

Rescue Operation - 1/7

Her head was pounding and her left arm throbbed at a point near her shoulder, pain radiating outward from a spot just inches north of her chest.

Sleep the previous night had been a complete non-entity, despite the fact that she had been prescribed painkillers. Strong ones, too. She had stubbornly refused to take them. Taking them meant her body would win out over her strength of mind. No way in hell was she letting that happen.

Calleigh Duquesne basically stumbled through the doorway of the locker room at CSI, carrying a Grande sized cup of Starbuck’s house blend, salivating at the prospect of its energizing jolt. She followed the path to her locker on automatic, moving forward without thought or care. Deliberately, Calleigh ignored the world around her – for better or worse. She set her purse on a nearby bench, fishing out a couple tablets of Excedrin from the bottle in her purse.

If she didn’t do something about the headache, soon, she was going to end up tossing the couple of muffins she had reluctantly choked down for breakfast.

Uncapping her coffee, she downed the pills and took a healthy swig, ignoring the hot sting of the liquid. Aspirin - with a caffeine chaser – what a perfect way to start the day.

Thankfully she found herself alone. Thus far, that was the morning’s one saving grace. There was no hovering, though well meaning Tim Speedle to deal with yet. Eric wasn’t around either, and Alexx was, most likely, in the autopsy theater. Calleigh was temporarily safe from inquisitive, too- compassionate eyes and suffocating commentaries of understanding and similar horror stories.

Officers had gone down on the job before, especially as the result of gunfire. Not so Calleigh. Yesterday morning had been her first.

Her headache raged merrily, pounding against her temples in perfect synchrony to the pulse beat of pain emanating from a gunshot wound located scant inches above her heart. Closing her eyes, she willed the medicine into action, pleading with it for surcease. She had nearly reached for the painkillers instead, but damned that reaction. She was going to work hard today, and work with a clear, focused head.

It was a fairly deep wound, doctors had said, but there was no fear of long term, permanent damage.

Calleigh spun through the combination of her locker and yanked the door open with a mixed gesture of impatience and angry disquiet.

She came face to face with her reflection.

A small vanity mirror was attached to the interior of the door. There, centered neatly in the frame, she saw the harrowing end results of the past day and a half. The vision of her face left her wanting to cry.

Dark circles emphasized tired, bloodshot eyes. Those large blue eyes, one of her most distinctive features, were unaccustomedly dim. Lifeless. Her thick, blonde hair hung straight, somewhat limp, against her shoulders. Her skin looked pallid and a bit splotchy. In summation, she looked like shit.

Calleigh pushed past that thought. In response to a bad hair day, she reached upward, intending to grab a ponytail holder from the top shelf of her locker where she always stored them. The effort left her crying out in pain, for without thinking, she had attempted to utilize her left arm. As a result, she had just done a nice job of pulling at stitches and snugly packed bandages.

“Damn!” Calleigh cursed, biting off the word, now using her right hand to retrieve the cursed rubber band and snap her lab coat from its hanger inside. A sudden, sullen thought invaded her mind as she studied the simple hair accessory. How was she supposed to fashion her hair into a ponytail without being able to use her left arm effectively?

She wore a simple black tank top because it had been easy to pull on. She paired it with a pair of white canvas slacks, also comfortable and loose enough to slide into easily. The shoulder strap hid most of her bandaging, but the damage was there. Oh, bloody hell was it there.

Calleigh faced her reflection once more, sighing, tears springing to her eyes for the millionth time since --- well, since the shooting.

She forced back each and every one of those tears, refusing to let them fall.

Lifting her chin, she determined to face down this entire nightmare and beat it senseless. Such, after all, was her way.

Calleigh reached upward slowly, staring at her reflection as she loosened pieces of adhesive tape, as she gently peeled back layers of white cotton bandages. She had not yet seen the entrance wound. She had been stridently urged to keep it covered for 24 hours. Well, the 24 hours were up, and it was time to face the music. She removed the final layer of protection.

“Dear God,” she whispered, her throat almost instantly clogged. Tears re- built and her chin quivered with her effort to maintain control.

What she uncovered was a swelled up, deeply bruised, blood covered hole in her skin.

No permanent damage, the doctors had reported with smug assurance and satisfaction.

‘Like hell.’ she railed silently.

~~~~~

The presence of a second person in the confines of the locker room was alerted to Calleigh by one small, quite unmistakable gesture - the soft, subtle clearing of a throat.

Startled, Calleigh turned toward the sound, and found Horatio Caine quietly watching her. Mortified at being caught unaware, she made fast, if clumsy, work of re-bandaging her wound.

It was too late. Horatio, she knew at a glance, had been watching her. Now nervous, and inexplicably shy, Calleigh fingered her hair into place to cover her left shoulder, wishing it all away, aching for life as it had been one short day ago.

“Hey,” he greeted somewhat cautiously.

Damn. Tender concern and bottomless sympathy were captured in the vibration of one word. Calleigh, however, could not quite find it within herself to be bright and welcoming - not in time to keep her disquiet hidden from Horatio. Although she knew he would not be fooled for even a moment, Calleigh turned toward him once again and delivered a smile that was shaky and completely false.

“Hey back,” she answered. Calleigh straightened, an attempt to stand tall - forcing herself to be direct, to be professional and straightforward. Businesslike. She was about to ask him what, if any, progress had been made on the case. A good topic, she figured; one that would assure Horatio, and herself, of a return to normalcy.

She wanted to key in on anything but herself at the moment. Asking for a status report on the shooting would show him she was mentally prepared, strong, tough enough to get back in the saddle of her work responsibilities. Then, there was no way he could be disappointed in her -- -

Before she could even speak a word, Horatio looked straight into her eyes, and shook his head, saying, “Don’t even try it.”

Calleigh knew better than to put up a front. They read one another far too well for such games. She was busted for the crime of attempted evasion, and she knew it. Looking away, she returned to the process of slowly, and carefully, settling her bandages and the shoulder strap of her tank top back into place.

Horatio moved toward her locker and opened the door fully to remove it from the space between them. He looked at the nearly concealed bandage and Calleigh saw something in his eyes that tore her up - a pain so raw it made her ache. He assumed his most common stance – feet apart, suit coat open, hands on hips. The posture suited him. Horatio was always ready for battle, ever on guard, especially for those closest to him.

He looked down for just a second or two, internally debating before he asked, “May I see it?”

Calleigh shifted a bit nervously, once again feeling shy. In the end, she nodded her permission, realizing, somehow, this was something Horatio needed to do for his own reasons.

That was enough for Calleigh.

Deciding to use the opportunity to change the dressing, she extracted fresh packs of gauze and white adhesive tape from inside her purse, pulling the strap of her tank top and bra halfway down her arm. Only her shoulder was exposed. She kept her focus on the task of bandaging the wound, avoiding his eyes, but feeling their power nonetheless.

Once her skin, and the wound, was exposed, Calleigh ventured a glance at his face, wanting to see his reaction. That quick gesture turned to something that lingered, and broke her heart. He was crushed, and she knew exactly why he felt that way.

“Don’t do it to yourself, Horatio.” Calleigh spoke firmly. In fact, she edged her tone with just a bit of anger, just enough to get his attention and make her point. “My wound is not something you can take upon yourself.”

His eyes came up, and the heat of his bitterness, of his anger and crackling energy, literally caused Calleigh to catch her breath - it was that powerful a thing to behold. “Yes it is, Calleigh, but I’ll drop the topic. I do *not* want to argue with you or upset you any more than you’ve already endured. You’ve been through too much as it is.”

She was silent for a moment, studying his eyes. His spirit of resolve was there, living strong, most likely feeding off a quest for vengeance – albeit just vengeance.

Centered on her.

That thought inspired a trickle down reaction of her senses that stirred heat, an emotion of depth and beauty despite the nightmare she currently endured.

Calleigh had to break the intensity of the moment or fall victim to that which she found most captivating and attractive about Horatio Caine – his soul-deep instinct when it came to the protection and care of those he held dear.

Wordlessly, she re-bandaged her skin and straightened her clothing. Reaching for her lab coat, she came promptly upon trouble when she tried to get her left arm into the sleeve.

“Here. Let me.” Horatio moved behind her and took possession of the garment. He lowered it just enough that Calleigh did not have to move. She simply tucked her hands inside the sleeves and Horatio slid it smoothly upward and into place.

“Thanks --- ”

She was going to turn, and offer him a sincere smile, but stopped short when his fingers slid warm and soft against her neck, working her hair free of the collar. The sensation that simple action stirred alerted her body in a major, provocative way. He laid the tresses carefully against her back, letting his touch linger on her arms in a communication of tenderness.

The gesture was accomplished with such grace, with such a natural, unaffected degree of caring, that Calleigh felt herself tremble just slightly. She closed her eyes for a second, knowing the reaction was hidden from his view by the fall of her hair.

Besides, Horatio was distracted by looking at the rubber bands and brush inside her locker. That’s when Calleigh knew. He had been watching her for a good long time before announcing his arrival. He even realized she wanted her hair out of the way while she worked.

Horatio withdrew a ponytail holder, along with her brush, and asked quietly, “Can I help?”

In answer, she nodded, keeping her back turned. Following a few simple moves, her hair was brushed gently and fashioned into a smooth line that fell down her back and away from her face.

Before forcing herself to take leave from his company, Calleigh stood on tiptoe, kissing Horatio’s cheek. She whispered, “Thank you,” too moved to venture a deep look into his eyes.

Horatio shook his head, clueless, it seemed, to the depth of his impact.

“For what?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Calleigh shrugged, ignoring the brief slice of pain it caused. “Caring for me so well. I appreciate it, Horatio.”

Apparently it was not the right comment to make. Horatio’s pain returned. She glimpsed it for just an instant before he turned away and murmured, “If I had taken care of you, Calleigh, you never would have been shot.”

That was his final word, apparently, for he exited the locker room before Calleigh could dispute the comment as she wished.

TBC ~~~~~