Title: A Tale of Two…

Pairing: Calleigh/Stella, CSI: Miami/CSI: NY

Rating: R. It gets a bit naughty, but mostly… useless fluff alert!

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI Miami or NY, and I refuse to apologize to Charles Dickens – I never liked his work that much anyway.

Summary: This is what happens when I watched the Miami/NY crossover on Spike late the other night. Its more of exercise in imagery than a real story, but I just couldn't get out of my head how like their cities Stella and Cal are. (And my muse went, Stella + Calleigh hot)


When I look at her, I see New York. She's the perfect reflection of her city; the living embodiment of that edgy, pulsing, pounding, ever-changing, never-sleeping place.

The first time I saw her, she took my breath away. She was brash and bold, beautiful and dangerous; blunt in manner and sharp in intellect. She fascinated me from the beginning with her toughness and drive, but what really drew me were the tiny chinks in her armor. Like the smallest of flowers struggling up between the cracks in the concrete floor of her city, I caught glimpses of softness, warmth and compassion.

I sometimes wonder, if it were truly possible to do such a thing as take a cross section of a soul, if hers wouldn't look like a map of New York City. It is easy for me to see the sharp, hard, sculpted beauty of her personality reflected in the landscape of buildings and roads and bridges and all of it surrounding a living, breathing, giving, open heart: hers – filled with infinite passion and love; the city's - a place of trees and water, grass and open sky.


When I look at her, I see Miami. She's the perfect reflection of her city: the living embodiment of that hot, wild, carefree, vibrant place.

The first time I saw her, I was struck speechless. Like her city she was warm and welcoming, soft and charming, energetic and impossibly complex. On the surface she was golden and sunny, but just as I misjudged her home, I soon realized I had gravely misjudged her.

This place and this woman never cease to surprise me. Gentle and mild, her hair is the color of the morning sun and her eyes rival the hues of the Gulf on a perfect afternoon. I looked at her, and at Miami, and my eyes saw only the physical beauty. I had no idea what I was missing.

She showed me her home, and I saw it through her eyes. It is a place with an energy unlike anything I have ever felt. Filled with conflict, compromise and cooperation as people and cultures from all over the world struggle and meld; surrounded by the untamable Everglades where prehistoric creatures and the forces of nature still see man as merely an insignificant phase in the history of the world, and threatened by hurricanes we New Yorkers can't even imagine, there is a core of purest steel under the sun and glitter and bright sands of Miami.

That same steel lies just behind her jewel toned eyes, and it's matched only by an intellect and drive as powerful as those primeval storms she both loves for their ferocity and hates for the damage they cause.


The first time we kissed, I felt lightning: literally. We stood in the pounding Miami rain, with the air crackling and the sky exploding around us, and our lips met and I knew nothing else. Her mouth was warm and yielding and I swear I could taste the Miami sun on her lips.


The first time we made love, it was to the sight and sound and harsh beauty of New York in a snow storm. I had made a joke about the coldness of her city and with her hands and lips on my body she proceeded to show me the heat and passion that lies beneath the surface of her home, and her heart.


I look at her now, sleeping in my arms with her cheek against my breast and her corona of golden hair spread across the pillow. Even asleep she glows, and I can't help but marvel at the light she has brought to my life. I wish - with that traitorous part of myself that tends to ignore reality - that this could be permanent. That it can't makes it all the more precious however, and I find myself suddenly desperate to fall into her ocean gaze and feel her body move beneath mine.

As the first slow, golden Miami light pours through the window, I stroke my fingers up the satin skin of her back, using my touch to bring her back to me.


I lie quietly, keeping my breathing even and just concentrating on feeling. I feel the planes and angles of her body pressed against mine, the soft fullness of the breast beneath my cheek, the warmth and gentle strength of the arms around me, and the steady, strong beat of her heart echoing in my ear.

She's given me safety and comfort the likes of which I never thought possible. Where I least expected it - somewhere between the steel and glass of her home, and the sun and sand of mine - I've found friendship and passion and even love. There is a part of me – the part of my soul that refuses the logic and reason my mind delights in – that craves to make what we have last forever.

I know it won't though, and when her elegant fingers begin to caress my back, the jump in her heartbeat is matched by my own. I look up at her, savoring the closeness of her moss green eyes and trying not to smile at her rumpled mocha curls.

The heat in her gaze warms my blood and I move to kiss her. Her mouth is hot and welcoming as I slide my tongue into her. She opens to me, drinking me down, even as our hands begin to roam hungrily. She tries to roll on top, but I pin her hands above her head, making her arch against me and moan as I kiss down the long line of her throat and take a pebbled nipple in my mouth.


My brain short circuits when she pins me – so gently, but I surrender completely to her touch. The sun makes her peaches and cream skin glow, and her ocean eyes are dark and stormy with lust. I would give her anything at this moment, and as her hands and mouth move across my body, I do just that.


The sun is in full command of the sky now as we lay tangled together. I marvel at the way the southern light caresses her sculpted cheekbones and lights the depths of her forest eyes. I can feel her heart beating against my chest and each breath she takes is mirrored by my own until it feels as though we are of one body. I've never known such peace and contentment, and as my thumb absently traces her passion-bruised lips, I realize something: I am home. Not just here, in Miami, the place I have come to call my own, but here, in this moment, held gently in her arms and caressed by her eyes. This is the home I've always searched for, but never truly found. I look at her, and my heart swells with emotion and the need to let her know just what she has come to mean to me.

Fleeting or not, what we have created together has become strong enough to build on.

"I love you Stella."


I don't think I could move even if I wanted to. Sated doesn't even come close. She's touched more than just my body though. Somehow, as corny as it might sound, despite the armor I built around it, she's touched my heart. Laying here, running my fingers through her golden hair and stroking a rose-flushed cheek, I feel contentment, and peace, and a love so fierce it almost scares me. I know that once I probably would have run from this feeling – from the fear of loosing myself to it. Now though, I look into the shifting jeweled facets of her eyes and feel an almost giddy rush of joy as I dive willingly forward and realize that I'm home. It's not this city of sun and sand, but here, in the arms and heart of this woman that I've finally found the place I belong.

"And I love you Calleigh."

Fin