Disclaimer: All characters and stuff belong to whoever owns CSI

Disclaimer: All characters and such belong to CBS. I own the characters that I made up and the new plot.

Author's Note: This is my first CSI: Miami fan fic. The idea came to me out of nowhere and kept pestering me until I started typing. This is probably the fastest I've ever typed a chapter for anything. Somehow everything just came together, even with the research I had to do. I hope I've managed to do the show justice!

Reviews are always greatly appreciated. They make the writing even more enjoyable. Let me know what you like/don't like/ want to see in the future.


This story takes place at the end of season one.

Pawns and Knights

Laser beams of red and yellow shot across the room with a whizzing crackle and connected with the target, a man dressed like a soldier with space-age weapons. The man exploded into hundreds of pieces as a few notes of a funeral chant sounded and half of a screen went dark. 'PLAYER 2 VANQUISHED' the screen read in dark blue letters. Fourteen-year-old Abbie Bennett groaned in disappointment and frustration. "Come on, Michael," she pleaded with the seven-year-old boy sitting next to her. "You know I'm not very good at this."

Michael Dawson just laughed and grinned with the pride of beating his much-older babysitter. "Hey, I'm teaching you!"

"Not very well, or I would have seen you coming into the control room."

"Wanna try it again?" The boy held his controller up as a challenge and smiled slyly.

"Of course! I'm going to figure this out sooner or later, and then you're going down!"

The boy laughed and restarted the game and soon the two of them were furiously dodging laser fire from the other's character. Abbie found it easier to navigate and remembered more of what each controller button did this eighth time around, but she still struggled and quickly was on the losing end again. She bit her lip and tucked a lock of errant hair back into place under her headband, concentrating hard on her half of the eighty-inch TV screen. "Come on! Run! Run!" she yelled at her character.

Laser fire was still loudly raining down around the soldier on the screen when she heard the doorbell ring. "Pause it a second, Michael," Abbie instructed as she started to get up.

"I don't think so," he giggled.

"Come on, Michael." The doorbell rang again insistently.

"Uh uh. You forfeit!"

Abbie rolled her eyes. "You're gonna have to restart it when I lose. Again."

The person at the door was getting impatient. The bell was practically shrieking.

She sighed loudly and headed for the door. "Michael Dawson, you are absolutely impossible."

He laughed.

Leaving the game room, she quickly made her way through the living room and the kitchen and into the entryway. The bell was still frantically ringing. A man's silhouette could be seen through the decorative frosted glass window. Cautiously, Abbie opened the door a crack. "May I help you?"

Pain exploded through her forehead as the man shoved the door open and it connected with her head with a loud crack. She stumbled backwards and before she could react he grabbed her hair and jerked her around. He clamped a sweet-smelling rag over her nose and mouth, hard.

Panicked, Abbie held her breath, knowing what the rag was probably soaked in, and struggled against her captor, trying to land a blow with her elbows. The man held on tightly and tried to press her arms to her sides, but she fought wildly and managed to dig her right elbow into his side. The sudden pain made him loosen his grip on her, which allowed her to get her other arm free. She twisted in his grip and raked her nails across his face with every ounce of strength she could muster. His hands and the rag dropped away from her and she tried to run, but his fist came out of nowhere and smashed into the side of her face, very near her left eye. She hit the ground hard and felt the wind knocked out of her. The man grabbed the rag off the floor and reached over to press it over her face again.

Her eye and her head felt like they was going to explode, but Abbie managed to kick out through the blinding pain. Her foot smashed into his stomach and he reeled back, clutching his stomach and struggling to breathe. She pushed herself up as best she could and fought to pull air into her own lungs. Panting, she managed to scream two words: "Michael! RUN!"

The man looked up with an evil gleam in his eyes. Staring at Abbie, who was now unsteadily on her feet, he pulled a knife out of his waistband and raised it high.

Abbie froze for a second, eyes wide and focused on the knife. Then, recklessly, she charged at the man.

She grabbed at his arm desperately and tried to twist the weapon free from his hand. In a flash, he had the knife in his other hand. She screamed as her assailant sunk the knife into her shoulder, but she didn't go down. Even as she felt blood gush from the wound and soak her T-shirt, she tried again to disarm him. This time she grabbed at both of his arms. He slashed at her, slicing open her hands, wrists, arms, and neck, but she only fought harder. They struggled for what felt like an eternity. Ignoring her bleeding wounds, she made one last swipe for the knife and somehow managed to knock it out of his hands. It hit the ground and skittered away.

Her focus had been on the knife, and she was too late to duck from the board he swung at her head. Everything went dark and she fell to the ground.

Fighting to stay conscious, she heard a second set of footsteps inside the house. Someone kicked her leg and voices murmured. That was the last thing she was aware of before a heavy darkness settled over her.

Abbie let out a low moan and tried to move. She was in the most terrible pain of her life and couldn't remember why. Managing to open her right eye, she recognized the entryway of the Dawson home and everything came rushing back.

The doorbell. The man. The knife.

She struggled to sit up, hardly suppressing a scream. Her shoulder burned, her palms were on fire, her arms stung, and her head throbbed. The room spun, but she forced herself up onto her feet. Fear bubbled up in her throat and she clung to the doorway for support. She was panicking inside, but she couldn't make herself hurry. Her body wouldn't cooperate. Forced to lean on the walls, she made her way back through the kitchen.


The terrible silence in the house was suffocating her. All she could hear was her own labored breathing.


She fearfully entered the living room. The TV's giant screen glowed blue, casting a soft light over the abandoned controllers on the ground. For a split second, she wondered why the game had stopped.

And then she saw the rest of the room.

The end table where the game system had been was lying on its side. The game system was on the other side of the room. Remote controls, picture frames, magazines, games, and other knickknacks were scattered everywhere.

Shocked, she stumbled backwards into the wall. She stared at one mess and then another, until something made her breath catch in her throat: a red stain on the white carpet. She screamed.


Horatio Caine directed his silver Hummer into the driveway of a lavish beachfront home and shut off the motor. He slid on his sunglasses and stepped out of the vehicle, forcefully shutting the door behind him. He was all business.

"What do we have Frank?" he asked the officer as he strode towards the house.

"Kidnapping. Seven-year-old Michael Dawson. Marched into the house and took him in broad daylight."

"Ransom note?"

"Nope. Nothin'. We're still trying to get ahold of the parents."

Horatio stopped just before the crime scene tape that had been set up around the house and the surrounding sidewalk. "Who called it in?"

"Babysitter." Frank gestured towards the beach fifty feet or so away where a girl was slowly walking back and forth, a bath towel draped over her shoulders. "Name's Abbie Bennett. That's all anyone's gotten out of her since the 911 call."

"Frank…" Horatio said slowly, taking in the girl's strange behavior and the fact that one side of her face was darker than the other. "Frank, she looks injured."

Frank's voice lowered. "We're guessing the kidnapper attacked her when he went after Michael."

"Guessing, Frank?" He turned to face the detective.

"When she made the 911 call, all she said was that a boy had been kidnapped. Dispatcher thought she sounded a little odd, so he sent paramedics out here as well." He sighed. "She's refusing treatment, won't even let anyone near her so we don't know how bad she is."

"Ok," Horatio nodded. "Ok."

He set out across the sand.

A short walk brought him within a few feet of Abbie Bennett, who continued pacing and didn't seem aware of him. She was young, probably a high school freshmen, with shoulder-length wavy chestnut hair. Her deep blue eyes were troubled and seemed to be staring far away, fixed on something or someone no one else could see. One of her eyes was slightly swollen and colored a deep blue-purple, as was the surrounding area. She was wearing khaki capris and a blue and white horizontally striped shirt. If she had been wearing shoes, they were gone now. Her bare feet scuffed the sand as she walked.

"Abbie?" Horatio gently asked.

Abbie heard a deep, calm, masculine voice break through her bubble of silence. She turned and saw a middle-aged man with red hair that glinted in the sun. He wore a blue dress shirt, black dress pants, and a black suit jacket, even in the heat of the Miami sun. He had one hand casually on his hip, letting her see a gun and a badge clipped to his belt. He was looking at her intently from behind a pair of sunglasses.

Still observing the girl, who was now looking back at him, he let his hand drop from his hip, and he slid his sunglasses off. Holding them between the index and middle finger of his right hand, he gently asked again. "Abbie?"

The girl licked her lips. "Yeah?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Abbie, I'm Lieutenant Horatio Caine."

"You're a cop."

"Yes, and…" He slowly moved closer, wanting to keep her at ease. "I'm also a crime scene investigator."

Her eyes watered. "You're gonna find Michael?"

"Yes, I am," he assured her.

She looked at him a second longer before tears started rolling down her cheeks and she looked away. Her face was taut with anxiety.

He could guess what she was thinking. "This is not your fault, Abbie."

"Mrs. Dawson's going to kill me," she said in a choked voice. "No one will ever want me to babysit for them ever again. How could I have let him be taken like that?

"Abbie, this is not your fault," he repeated in his slow, gentle voice. He locked eyes with her.

Under his intense gaze, her reserve crumbled and she let out a deep shaky breath.

Horatio came a few steps closer until he stood directly in front of her. He could see blood drops on the towel around her shoulders. "The man who took Michael. Did he hurt you?"

"Just find Michael, please," she begged.

"Right now, sweetheart, I'm more worried about you." Crouching slightly so he was on eye level with her, he explained, "You're our only witness. You can help us find the man who took Michael, but I want you to let the paramedics take care of your injuries first, ok?"

She looked at him for a moment before she responded. "That…that…man…I…scratched him, when he attacked me. Does that help?"

He stood up and reached into his pocket. "Absolutely." He pulled out a small envelope and a metal tool. "I'll scrape out from under your fingernails, and then we'll go over to the ambulance."

She nodded and held out her hands.

Horatio gently scraped under each fingernail. Small particles of skin dropped into the envelope. When he'd finished, he turned her hands over before she could protest.

Her palms had been sliced open multiple times. More lacerations covered her wrists, inner arms, and neck. When she didn't react to him observing her wounds, he looked up. She was staring off in the opposite direction, a strange look on her face.

"Abbie? What's wrong?"

"I feel dizzy…."

He looked more closely at her eyes. One pupil was larger than the other. He shaded one hand over her face, but her pupils didn't respond to the light change.

"Ok…Abbie, you really need to see the paramedics now. Here, lean on me."

She did, and as they started walking, the towel fell away from her shoulders to reveal her blood-soaked T-shirt.

Horatio didn't react outwardly in order to keep her calm, but inside he thought, This girl's in bad shape. "That's it, nice and slow. We're almost there."

Several paramedics came hurrying over when they drew near and swept Abbie away into the back of an ambulance, where they began cutting away her bloody shirt. "She may have a serious concussion," Horatio told them. "Her pupils are unevenly dilated and unresponsive to light change."

One of them checked and nodded to his companions. "We're taking her to the hospital," he responded.

Abbie cried out as Horatio stepped back and they started to close the ambulance doors.

"We'll find him," he called out to the terrified girl. "I promise."

As the ambulance sped away with flashing lights and wailing siren, he repeated quietly to himself, "I promise."

"Was that the babysitter?" came the voice of a southern woman from behind him.

He turned and saw Calleigh, evidence kit in hand and blond hair tossed by the wind, patiently waiting with Eric and Speed.

He nodded. "Yes it was. Looks like we have another set of parents to track down."

Calleigh sighed. "One missing little boy an' one beaten young girl. Not exactly how a Saturday morning's supposed to go." She tucked a long blond lock of hair behind her ear. "What do we have, Horatio?"

"We have a crime scene and two victims, so…" Horatio replied, sliding his sunglasses on. "Let's get ourselves a suspect."

Author's Note: Well, what do you think? I watched the entire first season before I wrote this to make things as accurate as possible, so I hope that paid off. :) If you can, please review. Feedback is greatly helpful and appreciated.