Disclaimers: CSI: Miami and the characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer and they have far more time and money than I do. I'm just using the products of their genius for nonprofit fun.
Category: DuCaine. Humor
Summary: Duty [doot-ee] n., pl. -ties: 2) Any action required by one's position or by moral or legal considerations, etc.
He thought he had seen it all.
After more than a decade in the crime lab and countless number of crime scenes ranging from the mundane to the horrifically grisly, he was confident that he could handle just about anything.
Even in the face of true evil, Lt. Horatio Caine, head of the Miami-Dade Crime Lab's day shift had always resolved himself to never flinch.
He had barely walked into the room that was the scene of the crime when the horrid, acrid smell hit him. He cringed at it, attempting to breathe through his mouth, but it was no use. The awful odor was too overpowering.
"I need to get my kit," he thought as he quickly backed out of the room. He fished his keys out of his pocket as he walked quickly through the residence and out the door to his Hummer. Seconds later, he was back in the pungent room carrying his large, silver toolbox.
The smell was making him dizzy, so he decided to work fast. Bending down, he set the box on the floor and the proceeded to pull his shirt up over his nose with one hand, while he opened his kit with the other. Pulling the compartment trays out, he looked for his facemask, all the while wondering if this particular job warranted use of a HAZMAT suit. He had one in the Hummer …
"Gotcha," he thought as his fingers uncovered the round, sterile face mask at the bottom of the kit. With lightening speed, he snatched it up and placed it securely around his head and over his nose and mouth. He coughed a little as he took in a big gulp of air. The mask did wonders to cut the smell, but still traces of it filtered through the strong fibers.
Standing back up, he decided that the faster he got to work, the faster he could breathe fresh air.
The scene itself was as bad as it smelled. Horatio was convinced he had never seen anything so disgusting in his life … and he had seen a lot. Seeing that there was too much of the viscous fluid, he decided on some extra protection. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, knelt back down to his kit and grabbed a set of latex gloves.
Snapping them on, he set about the task at hand. The job wasn't easy, and he had to turn his head away a couple to times to keep his composure. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally finished collecting the evidence and sealed it up tight in a plastic bag.
"This thing should be incinerated," he mumbled to himself as he held the bag out in front of him.
He heard someone clear their throat and looked up to see Calleigh standing in the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. She flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder, an expression of amusement crossing her beautiful, southern belle features.
"You have got to be kidding me," she said as she looked at Horatio, a hint of laughter in her Louisiana-lilt.
Horatio reached up and pulled the mask down around his neck. "What?"
Calleigh dropped her arms to her sides and entered the room, surveying the scene around her.
"It couldn't have been THAT bad," she teased as she approached Horatio.
Though her green eyes were sparking with mirth, Horatio was not amused. He held the bag containing the evidence out to her.
"You want to examine it for yourself?"
Calleigh put her hands up and shook her head. "Oh no, I'm sure you've taken care of everything. I don't need to second-guess your immaculate work."
His eyes followed her as she walked around him.
"This one was bad, Calleigh," he said grimly. "You have no idea. This has to be some kind of biohazard."
She chuckled as she bent over the side of the crib and lifted her infant son into her arms. The baby boy giggled as his mother nuzzled his cheek with her nose then cradled him against her chest.
"I can't believe you snapped on the latex for this," she snickered as she bounced the infant lightly, cooing into the child's ear. "Your daddy's a silly-billy, isn't he? Yes, he is."
Horatio looked down for a moment and huffed slightly. "I was under the impression that there was some kind of special treatment involved with Father's Day," he murmured.
Calleigh walked up to him and smiled brightly. "Sorry handsome, but it's not my fault that Father's Day happens to fall on a Sunday, which is YOUR day for diaper duty. Now, please take that out to the garbage before it stinks up our whole house."
He looked up at his wife and smirked. "See, I told you it was bad. Something this disgusting should be considered a criminal act."
Horatio then leaned in close to Calleigh and gave a joking glare to their infant son. The blonde baby boy merely babbled and followed Horatio's movements with his eyes.
"As for you, young man, we're going to have to put you on a new diet or something," he said as he reached up and tickled the baby. The infant merely giggled in return and grabbed one of his father's fingers. Horatio smiled, leaned forward and kissed the child's head, before turning and kissing Calleigh's cheek.
"Okay," he sighed as he pulled back. Pulling the mask off completely, he knelt back down and snapped his CSI kit closed. Then he picked it up with one hand while carrying the plastic bag holding what had to be the worst soiled diaper in the history of diapers in the other.
Calleigh laughed as she followed him out of the room, down the hallway and to their front door. Before Horatio stepped outside to throw the offending diaper away, she called out to him.
"Don't forget that Kyle's supposed to call in about an hour," she chimed, bouncing their son on her hip. "And don't worry handsome, I've got your special treatment all planned out for later."
Grinning at his wife's words, Horatio lifted the lid to the trashcan and tossed the evidence of their son's "crime" away.
"Happy Father's Day to me," he thought with a smile.
Just a little Father's Day one-shot. Hope ya'll liked it. Now I'll get back to Down to One.