disclaimer: thank god i don't; i mean, look at the crap i put them through.

rating: 13

summary: In the back of his mind, Horatio knows the fact that the more hours that roll by, the more unlikely they will find the victim. He knows that.

pairing: h/c

a/n: angst, period.

Slow Motion

"The silver lining of clouds shines on people Jesus couldn't save..."
Third Eye Blind, "I Want You"

Fifteen minutes after arriving at the scene, Speedle has the balls to suggest to him that he go home. (It's Horatio's third case in the forty-one consecutive hours he has been on duty.) Horatio doesn't even answer, simply glances up from the partial footprint on the floor. Silence and a look; Speed doesn't suggest it again.

Eric calls Alexx Woods down, and though no one is sure why (because there is no dead body for her to inspect at the moment), no one objects, knowing it's a good idea. She's there in ten minutes, and she finds her Eric in the living room, dusting, lifting, collecting, bagging and tagging everything in sight and her Timmy taking more pictures than he needs of the blood on the doorframe.

Horatio snaps on a fresh pair of latex gloves for detached objectivity and goes through the stack of papers on the cluttered coffee table: a ballistics report she has been working on, a manila folder of recent newspaper and magazine articles, an unopened letter from Louisiana, an outdated bulletin from Tulane, and an old note in blocky handwriting he recognizes as John Hagen's. Calleigh, it says, I'll meet you at 3:00. He reads it over twice more and feels something that he mentally labels as nothing.

Deciding to ignore Alexx' concerned stare coming from the kitchen where she is seeing if anything is out of place, Horatio wanders, follows the smeared blood trail, to view the rest of the apartment. The bathroom smells like the summer breeze and wet grass. The faucet in the sink is leaky, and three drip-drops later, he begins to feel uneasy being there, surrounded by her mint toothpaste, lavender towels, vanilla lotion, Yardley soap, and birth control pills.

While Eric is searching for more evidence (he's not sure what exactly) in her bedroom, he remembers asking H yesterday where Calleigh was and if he should make a quick visit to check on her. H had been in the lab, shoulders hunched, head bent, eyes squinting into a microscope, examining a glass fragment and didn't look up, commenting about how she told him she wasn't feeling well: a sick day or something. Or something. Eric's hands begin to shake violently now. Or something. Or something. Or--

Eric strides back into the living room in heavy footfalls and socks Horatio, who's been studying her bookshelf of Austen to Woolf against the far wall, across the jaw. By the time the younger is ready to throw another punch, Speed is pushing him out the apartment and into the hallway of the building where Detective John Hagen is questioning a neighbour. Horatio has blood running down the corner of his mouth, and he wipes it away dismissively with the Kleenex Alexx has handed him.

"At least we know for sure one of us is still alive," Horatio murmurs. That is the closest he comes to admitting to the something he calls nothing. He listens to Eric's crying for a few moments, then stiffens again and goes back to work.

Horatio has drunk nearly a week's worth of hi-test coffee in the mere six hours they have been on the case, and he is beginning to twitch. Alexx finds him in his office where he has tacked up Speedle's crime scene photos on all the walls and windows, and there are hastily scribbled Post-It notes stuck on each glossy surface. "Horatio, go home, take a hower, get some sleep."

"I'm not sleepy, I took a shower here, and," he pauses dramatically, "I'm not going home until I know Calleigh's home."

"Let me tell you something, Horatio," Alexx' voice is balancing between a concerned mother and a stern teacher, "Calleigh does not want to come home to this:" she waves a hand in the air, "Tim deathly quiet with vengeance on his mind, Eric screaming for justice with rage running through his veins, and you."

"What about me?" Horatio looks up from his papers for the first time since she's appeared at the doorway. "What's on my mind, running through my veins, and keeping me alive, Alexx?"

She stares at him for a long, long time, then turns, heading to the door. "Go home, Horatio. Feed your fish."

"I don't have any fish."

"I'll buy you some," she answers, "it'll keep my mind off of things."

"Fish?"

"We all deal with shit in different ways, Horatio." It's the first time he hears her curse, and he almost smiles - almost.

Another six hours later, when Horatio goes down to the ballistics lab to peruse through Calleigh's current cases, he discovers a small tank sitting snuggly on the counter of one of the shooting booths, and he is unable to fight the urge to sprinkle some crumbs into the water for the four colourful, dancing fish.

In the back of his mind, Horatio knows the fact that the more hours that roll by, the more unlikely they will find the victim. He knows that. Still, he hasn't eaten a proper meal in four days. (After throwing up Wednesday afternoon, he passed out for a number of hours and called that sleep.)

Speedle (because Eric refuses to talk to H) comes into the office with a list of not only names of people who may have a grudge with Calleigh, but names of anyone who may have a grudge with the crime lab. They split into groups to cover more ground: Speed sticks with Horatio, and Eric goes with Hagen.

Speedle and Horatio visit houses all day until a lady curtly informs them that it is late in the evening and that they are waking up the baby. She slams the door in their faces, and Speed drives because the last thing they need is a traffic accident with H behind the wheel.

He parks the Hummer at a deserted cove instead of going back to the lab, and Horatio doesn't object. They don't sleep, don't talk. Speed has tears in his eyes, and at a quarter before six when the first rays of the sun begin to curve over the horizon, he openly weeps and punches out the driver's side window. He goes out for a walk on the beach, and while he's gone, Horatio clears away the broken glass. Speedle comes back ten minutes later and apologizes quietly. Horatio doesn't reply, simply suggests they go back to headquarters where Alexx can bandage the bloody hand.

Horatio feeds the fish then finds Speed again, and they continue down their list. Three residences later, John Hagen calls and says one house refuses to open up and that Eric has discovered blood drops on the front steps. DNA comes back as a positive match for Calleigh's.

A string of MDPD vehicles congregate in front of the house, and Eric impatiently breaks down the front door, gun drawn. (They have Michael Richards in police custody in a blink of an eye, and he lawyers up just as fast.) Speedle goes down to the basement while Horatio takes the attic, scaling the creaky stairs two at a time.

She's there, battered and naked on the floor, and she struggles to lift her head at the sound of an approaching gait she recognizes. "Hi," she says with difficulty.

Horatio nearly bursts into tears right then and there, but he doesn't. He's on his knees, and he's taking off his suit jacket before he even has a chance to think clearly. He wraps her up and though he can barely hold up his own weight, he carries her down like a child, her head against his shoulder, her breath hot on the crook of his neck. He thinks he feels her heart beat weakly against his own through his shirt.

"I knew you'd come," she whispers hoarsely, "I knew you'd come and find me. I knew it." She pauses for a shaky intake of air, and Horatio feels her lungs expand against his chest. “What took so fucking long, Lieutenant?"

He kisses her hair lightly. "Traffic."

Her laughter can almost be mistaken for crying.

Calleigh's funeral is on a Tuesday.

(Eric transfers to Dallas on the following Monday, and Horatio drives him to Miami International.)

Horatio doesn't cry when the doctor tells him that she's got too much internal damage. He doesn't cry when the kit comes back and shows she's been raped numerous times. He doesn't cry when they lower her body into the ground, doesn't cry when days after her memorial service, he realizes he has to find someone to replace her position at the lab. Instead, he buries himself into his work and swallows the pain and the tears one breath at a time.

Six years later, he walks by the ballistics lab and suddenly collapses to the floor, weeping with his head in his hands, and no one knows why. Speedle rushes to his side and looks past the doorway, and there on the table, the fourth and last fish is floating belly-up in its lonely tank.

April 2004.