The 'real world' snuck up on my blind side so I haven't written in an AGE. I'm trying to work through that, and this is the result. :)

Although it's called 'Vices pt2', the 'first part' is not needed for this to be understood. It's just a kind of reinforces the the concept. Oh, and, little detail... Horatio didn't get married, never met Mari and only went to Rio to avenge Raymond. Hehe


She'd finally found him. He was sat on the small wall dividing the CSIHQ and the lusious green grounds it kept; his back to her. She watched as the gentle humid breeze ruffled the errant strands of his hair and fanned his shirt, complimenting the contours of his back. She wondered if the solid definition was in fact muscle or a build up of stress and tension across his shoulders.

Occasionally, a puff of white smoke would be carried away on the wind, telling Calleigh exactly what she needed to know about his peace of mind; it wasn't good.

She strolled down towards him, her heels sinking into the grass at times. He didn't jump when she placed her hands on his shoulders - they always somehow knew when the other was near.

She slowly and gracefully kneaded at his muscles, finding the scales were tipping heavily to tension. He drooped his head, eyes closing as his arms fell against his knees. Ash from the cigarette between his fingers scattered to the floor.

Her thumbs pressed deeply into his neck as goosebumps rose across his skin; he was enjoying it. A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, glad to be able to help him in any way she could. She didn't care what they looked like to the outside world, it was a moment they didn't get to share often - usually just as an outlet when the job got to much.

It had definitely got too much this time.

Exhaustion was still rippling through his body, being fought against with ever fibre he could muster. He wouldn't give in, even though everything with the case was closed for the most part. Diaz died in Brazil (as a result from self-defence from Horatio's hand), I's had been dotted and T's crossed; there was nothing more to do for now.

Well, nearly nothing. He still had to reclaim the Lieutenant badge from Calleigh.

Calleigh pulled her fingers away, stepping over the brick ledge and taking a seat next to him. He squared his shoulders again, sitting up straighter. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting a stick from the end of his own. She smiled a thanks. This was what they did. Even though they wanted to be alone, the company of eachother was exempt from the rule. Only the other knew exactly what they needed in that moment. Generally not even a word would be exchanged, just the presence was enough.

They didn't really know when the cigarette tradition had begun. It just seemed a more responsible way to relax, even though the consequences were deadly - maybe the consequences were the draw? It was only the extreme times when they did this - when they were so angry that the shooting range was dangerous (you should never drive or shoot angry); so defeated that drinking was perilious (answers were not at the bottom of a bottle) and so scared and bewilderd that company wasn't recommended.

They had too much respect for eachother for the other 'relaxing' possibility - sex.

Of course, they would have much preferred sex to smoking. You didn't smell - or taste - like an ashtray and there was most definitely less health-related risks, but social ethics meant the subject was never even broached.

So, smoking it was. Horatio took his last drag, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a heavy sigh. He stubbed out the butt on the wall, slipping it back into the pack. He raked a hand through his tousled hair, before reaching for another smoke.

Calleigh put her hand on top of his, stopping him in his tracks. He looked into her emerald green eyes, sparking with mutual sadness, slght mischief and just an occasional flash of pity. "Desperate times call for...different measures."

Horatio blinked. She understood that a full pack of cigarettes weren't going to cover this episode. She's been there the last time. This wasn't just a difficult scene, or a drawn-out case, this was family, and family was always special circumstances.

She pulled a key out of her pocket - a spare already removed from a fob. Sliding it into his hand, she met his eyes again - bewilderment, concern and just a hint of gratitude in his dark crystalline eyes.

A blush flared across her chest as she watched those eyes turn even darker, anticipation already tingling in her every nerve. She curled his fingers around his palm, the silver key burning into his hand, feeling as heavy as the questions racing through his head. She let her fingers trail slowly across his knuckles as she stood up. She waited for his eyes to finally meet hers again, never saying a word, just letting their eyes converse in ways there voices never would or could. She climbed over the wall and retraced her steps to the building. Horatio's eyes flicked from her retreating figure - the mesmirising sway of her hips and bounce of her blonde hair - to the promise held within his sweaty hand.

He breathed heavily through his nose, letting it fill his chest completely, hoping the clarity could influence his decision. Could he? Could they?

He slid the key into his shirt pocket, taking the sports jacket from the wall and bunching it between his fists.

He spun his head around, still hoping to catch a glimpse, but she had already gone.

He ran after her, jogging his way across the soft grass, following the divets from Calleigh's heels. He turned the corner and there she was. She smiled sweetly when they locked eyes. She'd waited to see his reaction, if she had just made the worst impulse of her entire life. He stopped dead, as if he ran into an invisible wall. He smirked in that crooked way that secretly made her melt, and drooped his head to the ground, coy bashfulness coming over him.

He took a step closer, looking back to her with darkened lustful eyes. She almost looked scared as she stepped back against the wall of the building, her palms hitting the brick. Her breath hitched in her throat, her heart beating in her ears. He looked for permission to come closer, instantly relaxing her.

She smiled, that mischievious glint returning to her eyes, the glint he loved to have a hand in making. He stepped closer, one hand resting against the wall, the other tracing over her cheekbone. "Are you sure?"

She heard the hidden message in his question. The message saying that he didn't want this to be a one time thing. Regardless of his state of mind, or the predicament this position had been borne from, he was stable enough to recognise the potential of this meeting.

She thread her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck, tugging gently for him to close the final distance.